


The Twin: Book 4

by effervesce_illusion



Series: The Twin [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Harry Potter Has a Twin, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Hogwarts Inter-House Unity, Horcruxes, I missed some characters, It's fine you might as well know, Lily and Draco realize they might be dating, Lord Voldemort's Monologues, Surprise it's Lily Smythin, This is the Last Book, Triwizard Tournament, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), aka Genesis Lily Potter, wait is that a spoiler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:41:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 66,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24904015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/effervesce_illusion/pseuds/effervesce_illusion
Summary: Crossroads are unexpectedly presented in a graveyard, and Lily takes the chance (and perhaps, on her way to the graveyard, realizes she has a family, gets a boyfriend, and captures a reporter who has always annoyed her. And if she comes from the graveyard with a snake and enough ammunition to oppose Dumbledore and reveal herself as Genesis Lily Potter, well.)
Series: The Twin [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1236599
Comments: 38
Kudos: 269





	1. Dreams

The villagers of Little Hangleton still call it ‘the Riddle House’, although it’s been half a century since the Riddles lived there (or lived, at all).

It stands on a hill overlooking the village. Once a manor, easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the house is now damp, derelict, and unoccupied, with one old gardener to tend to it. 

Frank Bryce had come back from the war and immediately started working for the Riddles. He was the first suspect when all three Riddles (father, mother, and son) were found dead, but when he was taken in for questioning, he denied the accusations, saying he’d seen a thin teenage boy, pale, with dark hair, entering the Manor.

Frank Bryce was let go when it was clear that the Riddles had not seemed to be poisoned, hanged, or shot. Suspicions in the village remained. Nonetheless, he stayed through another two families and then an unknown owner, who continued to keep him around to tend to the garden (among other things, now).

Now, the village isn’t suspicious of him, but the boys of the village are  _ boys _ , and they continue to bother him. So when he awakes one night in August and sees something very odd up at the old house, he merely assumes that the boys have gone one step further.

It was Frank’s bad leg which woke him. When he got up and limped downstairs with the idea of refilling his hot-water bottle to ease the stiffness in his knee, he looked over and saw lights glimmering in the Riddle House.

Frank immediately assumes that the boys had broken in, and judging by the flickering quality of the light, they started a fire. He puts down the kettle immediately and hurries to the Riddle House with his walking stick.

The front door bears no signs of being forced, nor do any of the windows. Frank limps around to the back of the house until he reaches a door almost completely hidden by ivy, takes out the old key, and opens the door noiselessly.

He lets himself into the cavernous kitchen. It’s not been entered in many years; nevertheless, despite the darkness, he remembers where the door to the hall is, and he gropes his way towards it, his nostrils full of the smell of decay, ears pricked for any sound of footsteps or voices from overhead. He reaches the hall, a little lighter, and starts to climb the stairs, thick dust muffling the sound of his feet and the stick. On the landing, he turns right and immediately sees where the intruders are.

At the very end of the passage, a door stands ajar, a flickering light shining through the gap and casting a long sliver of gold across the black floor. Frank edges closer and closer, grasping his walking stick firmly. Several feet from the entrance, he’s able to see a narrow slice of the room beyond.

The fire, he now sees, is lit in the grate. Then he stops moving and listens intently, for a man’s voice speaks within the room, timid and fearful.

“There is a little more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are still hungry.”

“Later,” says a second voice. It’s strangely high-pitched and cold, but undoubtedly a man’s voice. “Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail.”

Frank turns his right ear towards the door to hear. There comes the clink of a bottle being put down on a hard surface and the dull scraping noise of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor. Frank catches a glimpse of a small man, back to the door, pushing the chair into place. He wears a long black cloak, a bald patch at the back of his head. He disappears from view again, out of sight.

“Where is Nagini?”

“I—I don’t know, my Lord,” the first voice says nervously. “She set out to explore the house, I think….”

“You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail,” says the second voice. “I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly.”

Brow furrowed, Frank inclines his good ear still closer to the door, listening very hard. There’s a pause before Wormtail speaks again.

“My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?”

“A week,” says the cold voice. “Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over.” Frank blinks—he had heard the word ‘Quidditch’, which is not a word at all.

“The—the Quidditch World Cup, my Lord?” says Wormtail. “Forgive me, but—I do not understand—why should we wait until the World Cup is over?”

“Because, fool, at this very moment, wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait.”

Frank freezes. He distinctly heard the words ‘Ministry of Magic’, ‘wizards’, and ‘Muggles’. He realizes each of these means something secret, and Frank can only think of two sorts of people who speak in code: spies and criminals. He listens more closely still.

“Your Lordship is still determined, then?” Wormtail says quietly.

“Certainly I am determined, Wormtail.” There’s a note of menace in the cold voice now. A slight pause follows—and then Wormtail speaks, the words tumbling from him in a rush as if he’s forcing himself to say this before he loses his nerve.

“It could be done without Genesis Potter, my Lord.”

Another pause, more protracted, and then—

“Without Genesis Potter?” breaths the second voice softly. “I see…”

“My Lord, I do not say this out of fear for the girl!” says Wormtail, voice rising squeakily. “The girl is nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard— any wizard—the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while—you know that I can disguise myself most effectively—I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person—”

“I could use another wizard,” says the cold voice softly, “that is true….”

“My Lord, it makes sense,” says Wormtail, sounding thoroughly relieved now. “Laying hands on Lily Smythin would be so difficult, she is well protected at the school—”

“And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder… perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?”

“My Lord! I—I have no wish to leave you, none at all—”

“Do not lie to me!” hisses the second voice. “I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you.”

“No! My devotion to Your Lordship—”

“Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?”

“But you seem so much stronger, my Lord—”

“Liar,” breathes the second voice. “I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me the little health I have regained under your clumsy care.  _ Silence _ !”

Wormtail, who had been sputtering incoherently, falls silent at once. For a few seconds, there’s no noise except the crackling of the fire.

Then the second man speaks again, in a whisper that’s almost a hiss.

“I have my reasons for using the girl, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited for thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding the boy, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail—courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldemort’s wrath—”

“My Lord, I must speak!” says Wormtail, panic in his voice now. “All through our journey, I have gone over the plan in my head—my Lord, Bertha Jorkins’s disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I murder—”

“If?” whispers the second voice. “ _ If _ ? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has died. You will do it quietly and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself but in my present condition… Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Lily Smythin is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my  _ faithful _ servant will have rejoined us—”

“ _ I _ am a faithful servant,” says Wormtail, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice.

“Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfil neither requirement.”

“I found you,” Wormtail says, and he’s most definitely sulky. “I was the one who found you. I told you that Lily Smythin was Genesis Potter. I brought you Bertha Jorkins.”

“That is true,” says the second voice, amused. “A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail—though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?”

“I—I thought she might be useful, my Lord—”

“Liar.” The amusement is undeniable. “However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan and centred it on the right person, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform…”

“R-really, my Lord? What—?” Wormtail sounds terrified again.

“Ah, Wormtail, you don’t want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end… but I promise you, you will have the honour of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins.”

“You… you…” His voice sounds hoarse. “You… are going… to kill me too?”

“Wormtail, Wormtail,” says the cold voice, like silk, “why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with the news that she had met you on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be in Azkaban would do well not to run into Ministry of Magic witches at wayside inns…”

Wormtail mutters something so quietly that Frank can’t hear it, but it makes the second man laugh—cold and mirthless.

“ _ We could have modified her memory? _ But Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her  _ memory _ not to use the information I extracted from her, Wormtail.”

Out in the corridor, Frank suddenly becomes aware that the hand gripping his walking stick is slippery with sweat. The man with the cold voice killed a woman and is talking about it with  _ amusement _ . He’s dangerous—a madman, planning more murders—this girl, Lily Smythin or Genesis Potter, whoever she is, is in danger—

Frank is about to head to the telephone box in the village to call the police but the cold voice speaks again.

“One more murder… my faithful servant at Hogwarts… Genesis Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet… I think I hear Nagini….” The second man’s voice changes, hissing and spitting without drawing breath.

Frank turns and finds himself paralysed with fright. Something is slithering towards him along the dark corridor floor, and as it draws nearer to the sliver of firelight, he realizes with a thrill of terror that it’s a gigantic snake, at least twelve feet long. Horrified but transfixed, he stares at its undulating body as it cuts a wide, curving track through the thick dust on the floor, coming closer and closer—there’s nowhere to go.

The cold voice continues to hiss.  _ This man can talk to snakes _ .

“Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail,” the man says.

“In-indeed, my Lord?” says Wormtail.

“Indeed, yes,” says the voice. “According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say.”

There are footsteps, and then the door is flung wide open to reveal a short, balding man with greying hair, a pointed nose, and small watery eyes, a mixture of fear and alarm in his face.

“Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?” It comes from an ancient armchair, but Frank can’t see him. 

Wormtail beckons Frank into the room. Frank takes a firmer grip on his walking stick and limps over the threshold. The fire is the only source of light in the room; it casts long, spidery shadows on the walls. Frank stares at the back of the armchair; the man on it seems to be even smaller than his servant, for Frank can’t see even the back of his head.

“You heard everything, Muggle?” says the cold voice.

“What’s that you’re calling me?” says Frank, defiantly, for now, he’s come to the time for action and he feels braver like it was in war.

“I am calling you a Muggle,” says the voice coolly. “It means that you are not a wizard.”

“I don’t know what you mean by wizard,” says Frank, his voice growing steadier. “All I know is I’ve heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You’ve done murder and you’re planning more! And I’ll tell you this too, my wife knows I’m up here, and if I don’t come back—”

“You have no wife. Nobody knows you are here,” says the cold voice, very quietly. “You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows… he always knows….”

“Is that right?” says Frank roughly. “Lord, is it? Well, I don’t think much of your manners,  _ my Lord _ . Turn ‘round and face me like a man, why don’t you?”

“But I am not a man, Muggle,” says the cold voice, barely audible over the crackling flames. “I am much, much more than a man. However… why not? I will face you…. Wormtail, come turn my chair around.”

The servant whimpers.

“You heard me, Wormtail.”

Slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he’d rather do anything than approach his master and the hearth rug where the snake lies, the small man walks forward and begins to turn the chair. The snake lifts its ugly triangular head and hisses slightly as the legs of the chair snag on its rug.

And then the chair is facing Frank and he sees what’s sitting in it. His walking stick falls to the floor with a clatter and his ensuing scream drowns out whatever the thing in the chair speaks as it raises a wood stick. There’s a flash of green light, a rushing noise, and Frank Bryce crumples, dead before he hits the floor.

Two hundred miles away, Genesis Potter—now more widely known as Lily Smythin—jolts awake.

At first, all Lily feels is the sharp throb on her collarbone, where the lightning-bolt scar lies, and the vaguest sensation of terror. It’s not anything abnormal, although this is the first reappearance of that vague, pressing aura of terror that she used to dream about. Towards the middle of her gap year, they’d disappeared. Lily had hoped they were gone for good, but apparently not.

Then, as she’s reorganizing her mind, checking that her Occlumens defences are still up, she realizes there are images—memories?—lying on the shore of the black ocean, her first mental defence.

She stares at them. The entire events flash by, all tinged by the heavy, familiar aura Lily has come to associate with Horcruxes.

These are real events, then, ones she would have seen through her Horcrux, had it been able to get into her mind. Frank Bryce—Wormtail and Lord Voldemort ( _ he knows who she is now, what the heck _ )—Nagini, the snake—who’s Bertha Jorkins?

And they’re plotting to kill her. Nothing new there. At least he doesn’t know that she’s a Veela, or he wouldn’t underestimate her. (Lily’s always been the best in working as the underestimated.)

Still, they’re not planning to move until after the Quidditch World Cup, so Lily lets herself relax. She heads downstairs, with the full intention of disclosing everything to Draco just so they can laugh at the fact that Lily’s wanted dead  _ again _ , and then maybe get some information on who Bertha Jorkins is (though probably not; if Lily doesn’t know her, Mr Malfoy  _ definitely _ doesn’t know her.)

“Morning,” she greets Draco. It’s two weeks before school starts back up and Lily returns to Hogwarts for her fourth year—she skipped her third-year, due to the events of second-year and suddenly having no control over Veela allure—and today, they’re planning on doing back-to-school shopping so Lily’s stayed over at Malfoy Manor. In very few days, she’ll be visiting the Burrow by invitation, and only because she knows Ginny will be there and Lily does enjoy Ginny’s company. And it’s only for a fortnight before they take a portkey to the Quidditch World Cup, at which point Lily will join with the Malfoys again.

Lily and Draco both need new Hogwarts robes—Veela inheritances have added a growth spurt on which has, unfortunately, made all of Lily’s robes not fit. Draco’s have been modified, but they don’t look quite the same. Thankfully, they’ve gotten the rest of their wardrobe taken care of, so neither of them expects their trip to be long—simply dropping by Madam Malkin’s before Flourish and Blotts for their new books, and then back to the Manor to torture themselves with the summer learning they’ve planned.

“Morning,” Draco replies, remarkably a morning person. “I was going to tell you that Father’s got the invitations to the Quidditch World Cup and Fudge wants you to come along with the rest of us, too, but you look like you’re going to say something potentially life-threatening,” he says.

Lily swats him as she picks up a croissant from the spread the house-elves have laid out. Recently, Dobby’s been released, meaning that breakfast generally is much higher quality.

“Mm. It turns out that when the Horcrux gets a link established and sees things, the memory can’t make it through my mental barriers but I can still view them if I want,” Lily says. “And a Muggle was just killed. Bertha Jorkins is apparently working at the Ministry and she’s killed, too. Wormtail, you know, Pettigrew who escaped Azkaban last year? He found Lord Voldemort and now they’re plotting to kill me.”

Lily finishes spreading the jam onto her croissant and smiles serenely. “Also, I suppose it was only a matter of time, but Pettigrew found out that I’m Genesis Potter and he told Lord Voldemort that. Arguably, I did also Crucio him a couple of times in first year, but  _ really _ ,” she says and sighs. “What a bad sport.”

She takes a bite of her croissant, a little too fiercely.

Draco, who’s become used to these revelations after spending the past three years hearing these things, nods sympathetically. 

“I’m sorry. So are you coming to the Quidditch World Cup?”

Lily nods. “Yeah. He’s not going to start his plan until after. Do you know, he’s got a faithful smart servant and he’s going to be stationed in Hogwarts? I bet it’ll be the Defence professor since Moony’s gotten another job with the goblins.”

“He’s got a smart  _ and _ faithful servant?” Draco marvels. Lily laughs.

“I know! Do you know when we’re leaving for Diagon?”

“My father’s not coming, apparently he’s got an important meeting today for something going on at Hogwarts which is apparently top-secret. He won’t even tell me,” Draco says. “So we’re trusted to be on our own and not wreak havoc.”

“When have I ever wrought havoc?” Lily says. “Never.”

Draco laughs. “Right. About your not-dream, what actually happened?”

Lily hums. “It was mostly just the Muggle eavesdropping on Lord Voldemort and Wormtail. They’ve got an elaborate plan to capture me and do something, but only after the Quidditch World Cup, and all of it is based on information that Lord Voldemort pried out of Bertha Jorkins’s wiped memory and the fact that I’m Genesis Potter.”

Draco’s stopped eating to listen.

“So then apparently they killed Bertha Jorkins. Lord Voldemort’s got a new snake, Nagini, too. Anyway, his snake told him that the Muggle was eavesdropping and then he killed the Muggle, so evidently, he’s possessed a new form. I’m thinking it’s a baby since apparently he needs to be nursed and the snake needs to be milked and he drinks it, presumably?” Lily’s lips quirk up as she shakes her head. “Imagine him as a  _ baby _ , Merlin.”

“I’d rather not, thanks,” Draco mutters, cutting up his omelette again. “Well, just don’t do anything stupid and you’ll be fine.”

Lily supposes that his advice is fair. After one too many run-ins with an insane Dark Lord, the novelty and fear wear off. After killing a  _ basilisk _ , that sort of fear sticks with you for too many late nights and then wears off.

“I’ll be sure to go charging into the first trap I see, without any instincts of self-preservation,” Lily says drily. “In other news, when are we going to Diagon?”

“Early. That way, if either of us loses control of the allure, the resulting mess won’t be quite as bad,” Draco says. “Is today learning Mermish or Ancient Greek?”

“Mermish,” Lily says, pulling out a notebook. “Tomorrow is Ancient Greek. And Quidditch, because Ancient Greek doesn’t murder our brains quite the same way that Mermish does.” Lily flicks to another page. “Next summer we should plan something like drawing.”

“Muggle skateboarding?”

“Your parents would kill us.”

“Hm. True. Perhaps art. Maybe you’ll even find a special talent in  _ potter _ y,” Draco says, smirking. Lily groans.

“You’re not funny, I hope you realize.”

“No, you nearly smiled,” Draco says. Indeed, Lily is valiantly trying to keep her expression neutral.

“Did not!”

“Did so,” Draco says, rather smugly. Lily does smile, then.


	2. The Burrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily goes to visit the Weasleys!

Lily uses Potter Manor’s fireplace to Floo directly to the Weasley residence. When she gets there, she’s in a tiny kitchen.

Mrs Weasley is already there with a wide smile, hurrying over to wrap Lily in a tight embrace. “Lily, dear, you’re here! My husband, the twins, and Ron are off to pick Lloyd up right now, but I expect they’ll be back very soon. How are you? I haven’t seen you in ages! Hermione and Ginny are already here, they’re coming downstairs I think. Oh, you need to eat more, you’re so skinny—”

Promptly, when a pan on the stovetop hisses, she hurries over to turn the fire off and after that, goes to presumably check on something else. As she does so, Lily observes the rest of the kitchen; Bill and Charlie are sitting at the scrubbed wooden table, smiling.

“Hey, Lily,” Charlie says as Bill gives her a nod. His hair is longer now, tied in a ponytail, and the earring of old has been exchanged with a dangling fang. “How’ve you been holding up? I heard from Ginny that you weren’t at Hogwarts your third-year.”

Lily hums and smiles. “I took a bit of a break, I suppose. Talked to some ghosts at the Coliseum, did some work on magical orphanages with MACUSA. After the Chamber, they thought it might be better for me to study on my own outside of Hogwarts. I took the same end-of-year exams.”

“How did those go?” he asks.

Lily shrugs. “About as well as you can expect a travelling third-year to do,” she says and laughs, right as Hermione comes down the stairs.

“ _About as well as you can expect a travelling third-year to do_ ?” Hermione says, her voice half-shrill. “Lily, you scored top—I can’t _deal_ with you.”

Despite her words, she rushes down and hugs Lily, too, Ginny trailing behind.

“You know Bill and Charlie?” she says.

Ginny steps in for Lily. “We met over summer break while we were in Egypt,” she says. “She’s a _menace_ when she’s with Fred and George.”

“I’ve never done anything with them,” Lily says. “And if I happened to talk to them about how you could trigger an Engorgement Charm to go off when someone eats a sweet, that’s certainly all theoretical.”

“What about _Humongous Bighead_?” Charlie points out.

“What?” Lily asks. “Oh, I never found out what that was for. What was it for?”

“To abuse Percy being Head Boy,” Hermione replies.

“Oh.” Lily changes the subject. “Charlie, how’s Romania?”

And that starts him off. The only thing which ends up stopping his stories about his job is when the flames in the fireplace leap green again and out tumble Fred and then George and a trunk.

“Lily! You’re here!” Fred says, taking a seat. George drops the trunk off and ambles to another seat.

“How was picking Lloyd up?” Lily says.

Said person tumbles out of the flames seconds later.

“Did he eat it?” says Fred excitedly, holding out a hand to pull Lloyd to his feet.

“Yeah,” says Lloyd, straightening. “What _was_ it?”

“Ton-Tongue Toffee,” says Fred brightly. “George and I made them, and we’ve been looking for someone to test them on all summer….”

Lily’s eyes widen. “Did you make them?”

The tiny kitchen explodes in laughter. Bill and Charlie stand up to shake hands with Lloyd—Lily realizes that Lloyd’s never actually met either of them.

Before any of them can say anything else, there’s a faint pop and Mr Weasley appears next to George’s shoulder, looking furious.

“That _wasn’t funny,_ Fred!” he shouts. “What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?”

“I didn’t give him anything,” says Fred with another evil grin. “I just _dropped_ it…. It was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to.”

“You dropped it on purpose!” he roars. “You knew he’d eat it, you knew he was on a diet—”

“How big did his tongue get?” George asks eagerly.

“It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!”

The kitchen explodes in laughter again.

“It _isn’t funny!_ ” Mr Weasley shouts. “That sort of behaviour seriously undermines wizard-Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons—”

“We didn’t give it to him because he’s a Muggle!” Fred says, indignant.

“No, we gave it to him because he’s a great bullying git,” says George. “Isn’t he, Lloyd?”

“Yeah, he is, Mr Weasley,” he says earnestly.

“That’s not the point!” rages Mr Weasley. “You wait until I tell your mother—”

“Tell me what?” says a voice behind them. Mrs Weasley’s entered the kitchen, her eyes narrowed with suspicion.

“Oh hello, Lloyd dear,” she says, spotting him and smiling. Then her eyes snap back to her husband. “Tell me _what_ , Arthur?”

Mr Weasley hesitates. There’s a silence while he eyes his wife nervously.

“Tell me _what_ , Arthur?” Mrs Weasley repeats, in a dangerous sort of voice.

“It’s nothing, Molly,” mumbles Mr Weasley. “Fred and George just—but I’ve had words with them—”

“What have they done this time?” Mrs Weasley says. “If it’s got anything to do with Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes—”

“Why don’t you show Lloyd where he’s sleeping, Ron?” says Hermione. “And Ginny and I will show Lily.”

“He knows where he’s sleeping,” Ron says, “in my room, he slept there last—”

“Lily hasn’t. We can all go,” Hermione says pointedly.

“Oh,” says Ron, cottoning on. “Right.”

“Yeah, we’ll come to,” says George.

“ _You stay where you are!_ ” snarls Mrs Weasley.

And they all edge out of the kitchen and set off along the narrow hallway, up the rickety staircase that zigzags through the house to the upper stories.

“What are Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes?” Lloyd asks as they climb.

Ron and Ginny both laugh; Hermione doesn’t.

“Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George’s room,” Ron says quietly. “Great long price-lists for stuff they’ve invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they’d been inventing all that….” He trails off.

“We’ve been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were _making_ things,” Ginny says. ‘We thought they just liked the noise.”

“Only most of the stuff—well, all of it, really—was a bit dangerous,” Ron says, “and, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum went mad at them. Told them they weren’t allowed to make any more of it, and burned all the order forms…. She’s furious at them anyway. They didn’t get as many O.W.Ls as expected.”

“And then there was this big row,” Ginny says, “because Mum wants them to go into the Ministry of Magic like Dad, and they told her all they want to do is open a joke shop.”

Just then a door on the second landing opens and a face pokes out wearing horn-rimmed glasses and a very annoyed expression.

“Hi, Percy,” Lily says. He softens, slightly.

“Oh, hello, Lily,” Percy says. “I was wondering who was making the noise—I’m trying to work in here, got a report to finish for the office—and it’s rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs.” He’s glaring pointedly at Ron and Ginny.

“We’re not _thundering_ ,” Ron says irritably. “We’re walking. Sorry if we’ve disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic.”

“What’re you working on?” says Lloyd.

“A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation,” Percy says smugly. “We’re trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these imports are just a shade too thin—leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three per cent a year—”

“My godfather was talking about that just the other day, actually,” Lily says. “What are you plan—”

Ron cuts her off. “Yeah, yeah, all right,” he says and starts upstairs again. Percy slams his bedroom door shut. As they ascend three more flights of stairs, shouts from the kitchen below echo up. It sounds as if Mr Weasley gave in and told Mrs Weasley about the toffees.

The room at the top of the house where Ron sleeps is very orange. The Chudley Cannons are whirling and waving on the walls and sloping ceiling, the fish tank on the windowsill contains one extremely large frog, and flitting around his room is an owl, twittering madly.

“The owl you got me was _talkative_ ,” Ron lets Lily know. “Anyway, Lloyd, Fred and George are in here with us because Bill and Charlie are in their room. Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he’s got to _work_.”

“Oh, where’s Crookshanks?” Lily asks Hermione.

“Out in the garden, I expect,” she says. “He likes chasing gnomes. He’s never seen any before.”

“Percy’s enjoying work, then?” Lloyd says as he sits down on one of the beds.

“Enjoying it?” says Ron darkly. “I don’t reckon he’d come home if Dad didn’t make him. He’s obsessed. Just don’t get him onto the subject of his boss… _According to Mr Crouch… as I was saying to Mr Crouch… Mr Crouch is of the opinion… Mr Crouch was telling me_ … They’ll be announcing their engagement any day now.”

“Have you had a good summer, Lloyd?” Hermione says. “Did you get our food parcels and everything?” To Lily, she explains, “His cousin had to go on a diet so the entire family followed, not all willingly.”

“Yeah, thanks a lot,” Lloyd says. “They saved my life, those cakes.” There’s some laughter.

“Should we go downstairs and help Mrs Weasley with dinner? I think they’ve stopped arguing,” Hermione says.

“Yeah, all right,” says Ron. They leave his room and go back downstairs to find Mrs Weasley alone in the kitchen, looking extremely bad-tempered.

“We’re eating out in the garden,” she says when they come in. “There’s just not room for eleven people in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the tables. Knives and forks, please, you two,” she says to Ron and Lloyd, pointing her wand a little more vigorously than intended at a pile of potatoes in the sink, which shoot out of their skins so fast that they ricochet off the walls and ceiling.

“Oh for heaven’s _sake_ ,” she snaps, now directing her wand at a dustpan, which hops off the sideboard and starts skating across the floor, scooping up the potatoes. “Those two!” she bursts out savagely, now pulling pots and pans out of a cupboard. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to them, I really don’t. No ambition, unless you count making as much trouble as they possibly can…”

She slams a large copper saucepan down on the kitchen table and begins to wave her wand around inside it. A creamy sauce pours from the wand-tip as she stirs.

“It’s not as though they haven’t got the brains,” she continues irritably, taking the saucepan over to the stove and lighting it with a further poke of her wand, “but they’re wasting them, and unless they pull themselves together soon, they’ll be in real trouble. I’ve had more owls from Hogwarts about them than the rest put together. If they carry on the way they’re going, they’ll end up in front of the Improper Use of Magic Office.”

Mrs Weasley jabs her wand at the cutlery drawer, which shoots open. Lloyd and Ron both jump out of the way as several knives soar out of it, fly across the kitchen, and begin chopping the potatoes, which were just tipped back into the sink by the dustpan.

Lily leaves the kitchen, plates floating behind her in an orderly line. An ugly ginger cat immediately sprints across, blocking her way—it must be Crookshanks. The kneazle comes pelting out of the garden, bottlebrush tail high, chasing gnome. Barely ten inches high, its horny little feet patter very fast as it sprints across the yard and dives headlong into one of the Wellington boots scattered by the door. It giggles madly as Crookshanks inserts a paw into the boot, trying to reach it.

Lily turns the other way, to wear loud crashing noises resound. As she enters the garden, she sees why—Bill and Charlie both have their wands out, making two battered old tables fly high above the lawn, smashing into each other, attempting to knock the other’s out of the air. Fred and George are cheering loudly. Ginny and Hermione, who left earlier, are on the edges—Ginny’s laughing as Hermione hovers near the hedge, apparently torn between amusement and anxiety. Lily laughs at the sight and wonders where the plates Ginny and Hermione took out went.

Bill’s table catches Charlie’s with a huge bang and knocks one of its legs off. There’s a clatter from overhead and they all look up to see Percy’s head poking out of a window on the second floor.

“Will you keep it down?!” he bellows.

“Sorry, Perce,” says Bill, grinning. “How’re the cauldron bottoms coming along?”

“Very badly,” says Percy peevishly, and he slams the window shut. Chuckling, Bill and Charlie direct the tables safely to the grass, end to end, and with a flick of his wand Bill reattaches the table leg and conjures tablecloths.

By seven o’clock, the two tables are groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs Weasley’s cooking. According to Hermione, it’s excellent. They settle themselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky.

In the middle of the table, Mrs Weasley’s arguing with Bill about his earring, supposedly a recent acquisition.

“... with a horrible great fang on it. Really, Bill, what do they say at the bank?”

“Mum, no one at the bank gives a damn how I dress as long as I bring home plenty of treasure,” says Bill patiently.

“And your hair’s getting silly, dear,” says Mrs Weasley, fingering her wand lovingly. “I wish you’d let me give it a trim….”

“I like it,” says Ginny, who’s sitting beside Bill. “You’re so old-fashioned, Mum. Anyway, it’s nowhere near as long as Professor Dumbledore’s….”

Next to Mrs Weasley, Fred, George, and Charlie are spiritedly debating the World Cup.

“It’s got to be Ireland,” says Charlie thickly, through a mouthful of potato. “They flattened Peru in the semifinals.”

“Bulgaria has got Viktor Krum, though,” says Fred.

“Krum’s one decent player, Ireland has got seven,” says Charlie shortly. “I wish England had got through. That was embarrassing, that was.”

“What happened?” asks Lloyd eagerly.

“Went down to Transylvania, three hundred and ninety to ten,” says Charlie gloomily. “Shocking performance. And Wales lost to Uganda, and Scotland was slaughtered by Luxembourg.”

At the far end of the table, Percy’s telling his father about his report on cauldron bottoms.

“I’ve told Mr Crouch that I’ll have it ready by Tuesday,” he’s saying. “That’s a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he’ll be grateful I’ve done it in good time, I mean, it’s extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We’re just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman—”

“I like Ludo,” Mr Weasley says mildly. “He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup. I did him a bit of a favour: his brother, Otto, got into a spot of trouble—a lawnmower with unnatural powers—I smoothed the whole thing over.”

“Oh, Bagman’s _likeable_ enough, of course,” Percy says dismissively, “but how he ever got to be Head of Department… when I compare him to Mr Crouch! I can’t see Mr Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what’s happened to them. You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for a month now? Went on a holiday to Albania and never came back?”

Immediately, Lily starts paying attention.

“Yes, I was asking Ludo about that,” says Mr Weasley, frowning. “He says Bertha’s gotten lost plenty of times before—though I must say, if it was someone in my department, I’d be worried….”

“Oh Bertha’s _hopeless_ , all right,” says Percy. “I hear she’s been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she’s worth… but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr Crouch was quite fond of her—but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However”—Percy heaves an impressive sigh and takes a deep swig of elderflower wine—“we’ve got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we’ve got another big event to organize right after the World Cup.”

He clears his throat significantly and looks down towards where Lily, Ron, Hermione, and Lloyd are sitting. “ _You_ know the one I’m talking about, Father. The top-secret one.”

Lily figures he’s talking about the event at Hogwarts which Mr Malfoy refuses to give any more information on. Perhaps that’s even the reason that Lord Voldemort’s ‘most loyal, intelligent servant’ will be planted at Hogwarts, and why he’s waiting until after the Quidditch Cup to enact his plan. She redirects her thoughts to the food in front of her—no thinking about Dark Lords until absolutely necessary, after all.

“Look at the time,” Mrs Weasley says suddenly as the sun sets. She checks her wristwatch. “You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you—you’ll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup. Lloyd, if you leave your school list out, I’ll get your things for you tomorrow in Diagon Alley, I’m getting everyone else’s. There might not be time after the World Cup, the match went on for five days last time.”

“Wow—hope it does this time!” says Lloyd enthusiastically.

“Well, I certainly don’t,” says Percy sanctimoniously. “I _shudder_ to think what the state of my in-tray would be if I was away from work for five days.”

“Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?” says Fred.

“That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!” says Percy, going red in the face. “It was nothing _personal_!”

“It was,” George whispers to Lily as they leave the table. “Fred and I sent it.”

Lily lets the whisper of a laugh escape. “I can’t believe you two,” she says, the glint in her eyes at odds with her words.

“We’re your favourite of the Weasley brothers, don’t deny it,” George replies.

Lily scoffs. “What about Bill and Charlie?”

George rolls his eyes as Lily goes to join Hermione and Ginny, who are already leading her away to their room, laughing.

“Are you taking the portkey with us?” Hermione asks as they settle into their room. Ginny’s already under her covers, gazing over with wide eyes.

“Hm? Yeah,” Lily says. “I’m meeting up with the Malfoys once we get there, but I’ll be up bright and early with the rest of you.”

“Maybe not _bright_ ,” Ginny mutters, “but yeah, definitely early.”

Hermione laughs before she turns back to Lily.

“I’m glad you’re back,” she says. “Last year was calmer, but the entire school missed you. Especially the first-years. And the castle kept acting up. No one could stop it but the stairs started moving out of order and your room in the Slytherin dorms was closed off by the castle.”

Lily winces. “I didn’t think about that.”

Well, there’s one more thing on her increasingly-long to-do list. Calm the Hogwarts castle after a year absence, no problem.

Lily doesn’t want to think about what’ll happen after she graduates.

“Well, I don’t think anyone would’ve thought Hogwarts was so sentient,” Hermione says. “Though the castle does kind of favour you, doesn’t it?”

Lily knows Hermione’s thinking about the times Lily’s snuck through the castle without getting caught, the castle providing ways of escape.

“It does, I guess,” she says, almost ruefully. “Oh, Ginny, what electives did you choose for this year?”

A slight flush rises in Ginny's face when Lily looks at her. Lily half-remembers the diary Riddle telling her that he nearly suspected that Ginny had a crush. Admiration, Lily supposes, is a rather powerful thing, much like biases.


	3. Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They all wake up too early, and then Lily is introduced to Mr Weasley's Inability To Light A Fire.

Lily is almost always early to wake. Today is no different, and when Mrs Weasley comes into the room to wake them, she’s already dressed, quietly reminding herself of Latin verb conjugations as Hermione and Ginny sleep on.

It takes a little while before they’re finally up. Nevertheless, both of them are still bleary-eyed when they finally descend the stairs and enter the kitchen. All the boys are already there.

“Why do we have to be up so early?” Ginny says, rubbing her eyes and sitting down at the table, more of whining than anything else.

“We’ve got a bit of a walk,” says Mr Weasley.

“Walk?” says Lloyd. “What, are we walking to the World Cup?”

“No, no, that’s miles away,” says Mr Weasley, smiling. “We only need to walk a short way. It’s just that it’s very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup—”

“George!” says Mrs Weasley sharply. They all jump.

“What?” says George, faking an innocence no one believes.

“What is that in your pocket?”

“Nothing!”

“Don’t you lie to me!” Mrs Weasley points her wand at George’s pocket. “ _Accio_!”

Several small, brightly-coloured objects zoom out of his pocket; he makes a grab for them but misses and they speed right into Mrs Weasley’s outstretched hand.

“We told you to destroy them!” says Mrs Weasley furiously, holding up what is unmistakably another stash of Ton-Tongue Toffees. “We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!”

Lily grimaces as the scene unfolds; the twins evidently had tried to smuggle as many toffees out of the house as possible, and it’s only by using the Summoning Charm that Mrs Weasley manages to find them all.

“ _Accio! Accio! Accio!”_ she shouts, toffees zooming from all sorts of unlikely places, from the lining of George’s jacket to the turn-ups of Fred’s jeans.

“We spent six months developing those!” Fred shouts at his mother as she throws the toffees away.

“Oh, a fine way to spend six months!” she shrieks. “No wonder you didn’t get more O.W.L.s!”

So overall, the atmosphere isn’t particularly friendly as they take their departure. Mrs Weasley’s still glowering as she kisses Mr Weasley on the cheek, although not nearly as much as the twins, who each hoist their rucksacks onto their backs and walk out without a word.

“Well, have a lovely time,” says Mrs Weasley, “and _behave yourselves_ ,” she calls after the twins’ retreating backs, who don’t look back or answer. “I’ll send Bill, Charlie, and Percy along around midday,” Mrs Weasley says to Mr Weasley as they set off across the dark yard after Fred and George.

Ginny had been right—it’s certainly early, but by no means bright. The air is chilly, the moon hanging out, and only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon shows that daybreak draws closer.

Lily knows they’re taking a portkey to some large, deserted moor—they need to hold the match, which will be _huge_ , with witches and wizards flying in from all over the world, without attracting Muggle notice, after all. It’s information Fudge has told Mr Malfoy, who, in turn, told Draco and her over meals, or told Aunt Narcissa who told Lily over tea. They’ve had to stagger arrivals, too, and set up a network of portkeys, apparition points, and authorized very few to use Muggle transport. Overall, it’s been a stressful time for most Ministries across the world, from what Lily’s heard from Bulgaria, Egypt, MACUSA, and Japan. Lily’s just glad that their tickets are the ones for the Top Box, meaning that they _don’t_ have to arrive two weeks early to the event like some people. She knows the ones that the Weasleys are using (and her, by default) is going to be up at Stoatshead Hill, the large black mass in front of her; it’s better to have the portkey in a place where Muggles aren’t likely to intrude, after all.

As they trudge on towards the village, the sky lightens very slowly, going from black to deep blue. Lily feels like she might freeze over. Mr Weasley keeps checking his watch. Stoatshead Hill is steep, too, and it gets colder as they go up; the stamina needed is less bothersome than the actual temperature.

“Whew,” Mr Weasley says, panting, as he takes off his glasses and wipes them on his sweater. “Well, we’ve made good time—we’ve got ten minutes…”

Hermione comes over the crest of the hill last, clutching a stitch in her side. Good time, certainly, but perhaps a little too pressing.

“Now we just need the portkey,” says Mr Weasley, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. “It won’t be big…. Come on….”

“It’s a boot. An old boot,” Lily supplies before they spread out, searching. They’ve only been at it for a couple of minutes, however, when a shout rents the still air.

“Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we’ve got it!”

Two tall figures are silhouetted against the sky on the other side of the hilltop.

“Amos!” says Mr Weasley, smiling as he strides over to the man who shouted. The rest of them follow. Mr Weasley shakes hands with a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who holds a mouldy-looking old boot in his other hand.

“This is Amos Diggory, everyone,” says Mr Weasley. “He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?”

Lily hasn’t seen Cedric in a _year_ ; she’s heard from Draco that last year, he became Captain of the Hufflepuff House Quidditch team. He’s seventeen now, still extremely handsome, and Lily’s played against him twice. They’re at a friendly tension-filled rivalry of one to one.

“Hi,” says Cedric. “Oh, Lily!”

“Hey Cedric, Mr Diggory,” Lily says and smiles. “How are you? This is going to be your last year at Hogwarts, right?”

As they enter their own conversation, Lily’s half-aware of the other conversation—

“Long walk, Arthur?” Mr Diggory asks.

“Not too bad,” says Mr Weasley. “We live just on the other side of the village there. You?”

“Had to get up at two. I tell you, I’ll be glad when Ced’s got his Apparition test. Still… not complaining… Quidditch World Cup, wouldn’t miss it for a sackful of Galleons—and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy…. All these yours, Arthur?”

“Oh no, only the redheads but Lloyd. This is Hermione, a friend of Ron’s—and Lloyd Potter, another friend—”

“Merlin’s beard,” says Amos Diggory. Cedric pales—evidently, he’s been half-paying attention to the other conversation, too, and they turn to see his father’s eyes widening. “Lloyd? Lloyd _Potter_?”

“Er—yeah,” says Lloyd.

“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” says Mr Diggory. “Told us all about playing against you last year…. I said to him, I said—Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will…. You beat Lloyd Potter!”

Cedric looks slightly embarrassed. “Lloyd fell off his broom, Dad,” he mutters. “I told you… it was an accident….”

“What happened?” Lily asks in an undertone as Mr Diggory continues to laud his son.

“Bludger, knocked him off as we were racing for the Snitch,” Cedric says. “I didn’t notice.”

“Ah,” Lily says. “A regular Bludger, or a Bludger enchanted by a meddling house-elf?”

Cedric looks at her, evidently surprised. “A regular Bludger.”

“Well, you never know,” Lily shrugs. “After that match in second-year where the Bludgers kept attacking him, well.”

Cedric seems to nearly choke.

“Must be nearly time,” says Mr Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. “Do you know whether we’re waiting for any more, Amos?”

“No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn’t get tickets,” says Mr Diggory. “There aren’t any more of us in this area, are there?”

“Not that I know of,” says Mr Weasley. “Yes, it’s a minute off…. We’d better get ready….” He turns to look at Lily, Lloyd, and Hermione. “You just need to touch the portkey, that’s all, a finger will do—”

With difficulty, owing to nine bulky backpacks (Lily’s had the good sense to shrink everything to a manageable, almost unnoticeable, weight), they crowd around the old boot held by Mr Diggory. Silently, they stand in a tight circle, as a chill breeze sweeps over the hilltop.

Not for the first time, Lily notes that this would be a strange scene for Muggles to walk into, with nine people—two of them, grown men—clutching an old boot in semidarkness, evidently waiting….

“Three…” mutters Mr Weasley, one eye still on his watch, and Lily braces herself for the inevitable terrible tug that travelling by portkey encompasses, “two… one…”

It happens immediately. Lily’s jerked forward by an invisible hook just behind her navel; they all speed forward in a howl of wind and swirling colour; her finger’s stuck to the boot as though it’s magnetically pulling her onward.

Then her feet slam into the ground. Immediately, Lily separates herself from the rest of the group, which staggers around and hit the ground except for Mr Weasley, Mr Diggory, and Cedric. They all look very windswept so Lily casts a few basic charms to neaten herself. The portkey hits the ground with a thud.

“Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill,” says a voice.

They’ve arrived on a deserted stretch of mist moor. In front of them is a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom holds a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Lily’s not sure whether to laugh at their attempt at Muggle clothing or not; the man with the watch wears a tweed suit with thigh-length goloshes, and his colleague’s in a kilt and a poncho.

“Morning, Basil,” says Mr Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who throws it into a large box of used portkeys beside him.

“Hello there, Arthur,” says Basil, sounding weary. “Not on duty, eh? It’s all right for some…. We’ve been here all night…. You’d better get out of the way, we’ve got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I’ll find your campsite…. Weasley…. Weasley…” He consults his parchment list. “About a quarter of a mile’s walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager’s called Mr Roberts. Diggory… second field… ask for Mr Payne. Miss Smythin, the Malfoys said that they’ll be Apparating in a little late and you should stay with the Weasleys. Ah… the youngest Mister Malfoy has also mentioned in his letter to tell you that if you explore the camp before he gets here he’ll tell his mother that you were the one who fed her flowers to the albino peacocks.”

Lily pales. “Duly noted.”

“You fed what to _what_?” Fred asks as they set off across the moor.

“In my defence,” Lily begins, “they were dying flowers and the peacocks already trampled over them. And arguably, Draco’s done some things which could get him in more trouble. He was the one who broke the antique china, tossed the pieces in the pond, and ended up giving the koi digestion problems.”

After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swims into view; beyond it are the ghostly shapes of hundred and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field towards a dark wood on the horizon. They say good-bye to the Diggorys and approach the cottage door.

A man is standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. When he hears their footsteps, he turns his head to look at them.“Morning!” says Mr Weasley brightly.

“Morning,” says the Muggle.

“Would you be Mr Roberts?”

“Aye, I would,” says Mr Roberts. “And who’re you?”

“Weasley—two tents, booked a couple of days ago?”

“Aye,” says Mr Roberts, consulting a list tacked to the door. “You’ve got space up by the wood there. Just the one night?”

“That’s it,” says Mr Weasley.

“You’ll be paying now, then?” says Mr Roberts.

“Ah—right—certainly—” says Mr Weasley. Lily follows him.

“I can take care of it,” Lily says. “I lived in a Muggle orphanage for the first ten years of my life, after all.”

He hands her the roll of Muggle notes. Quickly, she pulls together the amount and hands it back to Mr Roberts as Mr Weasley mutters something like ‘I don’t know these little bits of paper’.

“You foreign?” says Mr Roberts as Mr Weasley returns, the notes in his pocket.

“Foreign?” repeats Mr Weasley, puzzled.

“You’re not the first one who’s had trouble with money,” says Mr Roberts, scrutinising Mr Weasley closely. “I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago.”

“Did you really?” says Mr Weasley nervously.

Mr Roberts rummages around in a tin for some change. “Never been this crowded,” he says suddenly, looking out over the misty field again. “Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up….”

“Is that right?” says Mr Weasley, his hand held out for his change, but Mr Roberts doesn’t give it to him.

“Aye,” he says thoughtfully. “People from all over. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There’s a bloke walking ‘round in a kilt and poncho.”

Lily smiles. “I suppose it’s a bit odd, isn’t it.”

“It’s like some sort of… I dunno… like some sort of rally,” says Mr Roberts. “They all seem to know each other. Like a big party.”

At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appears out of thin air next to Mr Roberts’s front door.

“ _Obliviate!_ ” he says sharply, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts. Instantly, his eyes slide out of focus, his brows unknit, and a look of dreamy unconcern falls over his face.

“A map of the campsite for you,” Mr Roberts says placidly to Mr Weasley. “And your change.”

‘Thanks very much,” says Mr Weasley.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanies them towards the gate to the campsite; he looks exhausted, chin blue with stubble and deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr Roberts, he mutters, “Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman’s not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I’ll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur.” He Disapparates.

“I thought Mr Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports,” Ginny says, looking surprised. “He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn’t he?”

“He should,” says Mr Weasley, smiling, and leading them through the gates into the campsite, “but Ludo’s always been a bit… well… _lax_ about security. You couldn’t wish for a more enthusiastic Head of the sports department, though. He played Quidditch for England himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had.”

They trudge up the misty field between long rows of tents. Most look almost ordinary; their owners clearly tried to make them as Muggle-like as possible but slipped up by adding chimneys, bellpulls, or weather vanes.

However, interspersed among them, there’s a tent so obviously magical that Lily can’t even be surprised that Mr Roberts is getting so suspicious. Halfway up the field stands an extravagant confection of striped silk like a miniature palace, with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance.

Lily groans. “Mr Malfoy brought the peacocks,” she says.

“Is that yours?” George asks.

Lily glares at the peacocks. “The only reason we tolerate those infernal things is that Mr Malfoy is overly fond of them. I suppose the house-elves set it up ahead of time.”

A little farther on they pass a tent with three floors and several turrets; beyond that is a tent with a front garden attached, complete with a birdbath, sundial and fountain.

“Always the same,” says Mr Weasley, smiling. “We can’t resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us.”

They’ve reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field, marked by a small sign hammered into the ground, reading _WEEZLY_.

“Couldn’t have a better spot!” says Mr Weasley happily. “The field is just on the other side of the wood there, we’re as close as we could be.” He hoists his backpack from his shoulders. “Right,” he says excitedly, “no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we’re out in these numbers on Muggle land. We’ll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn’t be too difficult…. Muggles do it all the time…. Here, Lily, Lloyd, Hermione, where do you reckon we should start?”

Lily has never been camping in her life. Lloyd’s family is not a camping type, either. Only Hermione has an idea of where to start, so the three of them work out where most of the poles and pegs should go. Mr Weasley is more hindrance than help, getting thoroughly excited over using the mallet, but finally, they manage to erect a pair of shabby two-man tents. Nobody looking at these tents would guess they belong to wizards, but Lily knows the inside is larger than the outside gives away.

The inside looks like an old-fashioned three-room flat, complete with a bathroom and kitchen. Unfortunately, it has the strong smell of cats, though it does have four bunk beds and crocheted covers on mismatched chairs.

“Well, it’s not for long,” says Mr Weasley, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief. “I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn’t camp much anymore, poor fellow, he’s got lumbago.” He picks up the dusty kettle and peers inside it. “We’ll need water….”

“There’s a tap marked on this map the muggle gave us,” says Ron, who followed them inside the tent. “It’s on the other side of the field.”

“Well, why don’t you four go and get us some water, then”—Mr Weasley hands over the kettle and a couple of saucepans—“and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?”

“But we’ve got an oven,” says Ron. “Why can’t we just—”

“Ron, anti-Muggle security!” says Mr Weasley, his face shining with anticipation. “When real Muggles camp, they cook on fires outdoors. I’ve seen them at it!”

After a quick tour of the girls’ tent, where Hermione and Ginny are staying with smaller space but no cat smell, they set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.

With the sun newly risen, the mist lifting, they can see the city of tents stretching in every direction. Their fellow campers are beginning to wake; first to stir are those with small children. A tiny boy no older than two is crouched outside a large pyramid-shaped tent, holding a wand and poking happily at a slug in the grass, which is swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As they draw level with him, his mother comes hurrying out of the tent.

“ _How_ many times, Kevin? You _don’t—touch—Daddy’s—wand—_ yecchh!” She trods on the giant slug, which bursts. Her scolding carries after them on the still air, mingling with the little boy’s yells—“You bust slug! You bust slug!”

A short way, they see two little witches, barely older than Kevin, riding toy broomsticks that rise only high enough for the girls’ toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard’s already spotted them; as he hurries past, he mutters distractedly, “In broad daylight! Parents having a lie-in, I suppose—”

Here and there adult wizards and witches are emerging from their tents, starting to cook breakfast. Some, with furtive looks around them, conjure fires with their wands; others strike matches with dubious looks. Three African wizards sit in serious conversation, all of them wearing long white robes and roasting what looks like a rabbit on a bright purple fire, while a group of middle-aged American witches sit gossiping happily beneath a spangled banner stretched between their tents that reads ‘ _The Salem Witches’ Institute’_.

There’s an assault of conversations in several different languages from every tent, every voice excited; it has Lily’s brain working frantically to mentally translate from so many different languages.

“Er—is it my eyes, or has everything gone green?” says Ron.

It’s not just Ron’s eyes. The patch of tents they’ve walked into are all covered with a thick growth of shamrocks so that it looks as though small, oddly shaped hillocks have sprouted out of the earth. Grinning faces can be seen under those that have their flaps open.

Then, from behind them, a familiar shout comes. “Ron! Lloyd! Hermione! And Lily, is that you?” It’s Seamus Finnigan. He’s sitting in front of his shamrock-covered tent with a sandy-haired woman who has to be his mother, and his best friend Dean Thomas.

“Like the decorations?” says Seamus, grinning. “The Ministry’s not too happy.”

“Ah, why shouldn’t we show our colours?” says Mrs Finnigan. “You should see what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over _their_ tents. You’ll be supporting Ireland, of course?” she adds, eyeing them beadily. When they assure her that they’re indeed supporting Ireland, they set off again, though, as Ron says, “Like we’d say anything else surrounded by that lot.”

“I wonder what the Bulgarians have got dangling all over their tents?” says Hermione.

“I bet it’s Viktor Krums’ face,” Lily says. “Let’s go have a look.” She gazes ahead towards a large patch of tents upfield, where the Bulgarian flag—white, green, and red—flutters in the breeze.

The tents here do, indeed, have the same poster attached to it, a poster of a very surly face with heavy black eyebrows. The picture, of course, moves, but all it does is blink and scowl down at everyone.

“Krum,” says Ron quietly.

“What?” says Hermione.

“Krum!” says Ron. “Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!”

“He looks really grumpy,” says Hermione.

“ _Really grumpy?_ ” Ron raises his eyes to the heavens. “Who cares what he looks like? He’s unbelievable. He’s really young, too. Only just eighteen or something. He’s a _genius_ , you wait until tonight, you’ll see.”

There’s already a small queue for the tap in the corner of the field. They join it, right behind a pair of men who are having a heated argument. One of them is a very old wizard who’s wearing a long flowery nightgown. The other is a Ministry wizard; he’s holding our a pair of pinstriped trousers and almost crying with exasperation.“Just put them on, Archie, there’s a good chap. You can’t walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate’s already getting suspicious—”

“I bought this at a Muggle shop,” says the old wizard stubbornly. “Muggles wear them.”

“Muggle _women_ wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear _these_ ,” says the Ministry wizard as he brandishes the pinstriped trousers.

“I’m not putting them on,” says old Archie in indignation. “I like a healthy breeze ‘round my privates, thanks.”

Hermione’s overcome with such a strong fit of the giggles at this point that she has to duck out of the queue and only returns when Archie’s collected his water and moved away; Lily joins her.

They walk more slowly now, weighed down by the water, and they make their way back through the campsite. Here and there, more familiar faces emerge. As Lloyd gets caught up with Oliver Wood, Lily talks with Theo and Blaise, who’ve already found each other. Next, they’re hailed by Ernie Macmillan, and a little farther on they see Cho Chang, a very pretty girl who plays Seeker on the Ravenclaw team. She waves and smiles at them—Lloyd slops quite a lot of water down his front as he waves back. Hurriedly, Lloyd points out a large group of teenagers he’d never seen before and Lily hides a smirk. She's fairly sure (she'd bet quite a lot of Galleons on it) that Cedric Diggory and Cho Chang will very much be a _thing._

“Who d’you reckon they are?” he says. “They don’t go to Hogwarts, do they?”

“‘Spect they go to some foreign school,” says Ron. “I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a penfriend at a school in Brazil… this was years and years ago… and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn’t afford it. His penfriend got all offended when he said he wasn’t going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up.”

When they return, George greets them with a “You’ve been ages.”

“Met a few people,” Ron says, setting the water down. “You not got that fire started yet?”

“Dad’s having fun with the matches,” says Fred.

Mr Weasley’s having no success at all in lighting the fire, but it’s not for lack of trying. Splintered matches litter the ground around him, but at least he looks as though he’s having the time of his life.

“Oops!” he says as he manages to light a match and promptly drops it in surprise. It's then that Hermione takes pity on him and scoots over to show him how to use a match.

At last, they get the fire lit, though it’s at least another hour before it’s hot enough to cook anything. There’s plenty to watch while they wait, however, as the tent seems to be pitched right alongside a kind of thoroughfare to the field, and Ministry members keep hurrying up and down it, greeting Lily and Mr Weasley as they pass. Mr Weasley keeps up a running commentary for Hermione and Lloyd’s benefit.

“That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of the Goblin Liaison Office…. Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he’s with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he’s had those horns for a while now… Arnold Peasegood, he’s an Obliviator—member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know… and that’s Bode and Croaker, they’re Unspeakables.”

“They’re what?”

“From the Department of Mysteries, top-secret, no idea what they get up to….”

At last, the fire’s ready, and they just start cooking eggs and sausages when Bill, Charlie, and Percy come strolling out of the woods towards them.

“Just Apparated, Dad,” says Percy. “Ah, excellent, lunch!”

Lily doesn’t take any of it— she feels rather bad about it, and she’s not hungry, besides. The Malfoys are supposed to arrive at lunch, but they did say they’d be delayed, so Lily expects them in perhaps an hour or two. They’re halfway through their plates of eggs and sausages when Mr Weasley jumps to his feet, waving and grinning at a man striding towards them. “Aha!” he says. “The man of the moment! Ludo!”

Ludo Bagman is easily the most noticeable wizard Lily’s seen so far; he’s wearing long Quidditch robes in which horizontal stripes of bright yellow and black. An enormous picture of a wasp is splashed across his chest. He has the look of a powerfully built man gone slightly to seed; the robes are stretched tightly across a large belly, his nose is squashed, but his round blue eyes, short blond hair, and rosy complexion make him look like a very overgrown schoolboy.

“Ahoy there!” Bagman calls happily. He walks as if he has springs attached to the balls of his feet, clearly in a state of wild excitement. “Arthur, old man,” he puffs as he reaches the campfire, “what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming… and hardly a hiccough in the arrangements…. Not much for me to do!”

In stark opposition to his words, a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rush past behind him, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of magical fire that’s sending up violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

“Ah—yes,” says Mr Weasley, grinning, “this is my son, Percy.” Percy’s already hurried forward with his hand outstretched. “He’s just started at the Ministry—and this is Fred—no, George, sorry— _that’s_ Fred—Bill, Charlie, Ron—my daughter, Ginny—and Ron’s friends, Hermione Granger and Lloyd Potter. Surely you’ve met Lily Smythin.”

Bagman does the smallest of double takes when he hears Lloyd’s name, and his eyes perform a flick upwards to the scar on his forehead.

“Yes, Lily, nice to see you here.”

“Everyone,” Mr Weasley continues, “this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it’s thanks to him we’ve got such good tickets—”

Bagman beams and waves his hand. “Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?” he says eagerly, jingling what seems to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow-and-black robes. “I’ve already got Roddy Pontner betting me Bulgaria will score first—I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland’s front three are the strongest I’ve seen in years—and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match.”

Fred and George go in. “We’ll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts,” Fred says as he and George quickly pool all their money, “that Ireland wins—but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh, and we’ll throw in a fake wand.”

“You don’t want to go showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that—” Percy hisses, but Bagman doesn’t seem to think the wand is rubbish at all; on the contrary, his boyish face shines with excitement as he takes it from Fred, and when the wand gives a loud squawk and turns into a rubber chicken, Bagman roars with laughter.

“Excellent! I haven’t seen one that convincing in years! I’d pay five Galleons for that!”

Percy freezes in an attitude of stunned disapproval.

“Boys,” says Mr Weasley under his breath. “I don’t want you betting…. That’s all your savings…. Your mother—”

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Arthur,” booms Ludo Bagman, rattling his pockets excitedly. “They’re old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum’ll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance…. I’ll give you excellent odds on that one…. We’ll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we….”

Mr Weasley looks on helplessly as Ludo Bagman whips out a notebook and quill and begins jotting down the twins’ names.

“Cheers,” says George, taking the slip of parchment Bagman hands to him and carefully tucking it away. Bagman turns cheerfully back to Mr Weasley.

“Couldn’t do me a brew, I suppose? I’m keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number’s making difficulties, and I can’t understand a word he’s saying. Barty’ll be able to sort it out. He speaks about a hundred and fifty languages.”

“Mr Crouch?” says Percy, suddenly abandoning his look of poker-stiff disapproval and positively writhing with excitement. Lily turns and finds herself exchanging one of those _looks_ with the twin Weasleys. “He speaks about two hundred! Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll…”

“Anyone can speak Troll,” says Fred dismissively. “All you have to do is point and grunt.”

Percy throws Fred an extremely nasty look and stokes the fire vigorously to bring the kettle back to a boil.

“Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?” Mr Weasley asks as Bagman settles himself down on the grass beside them all.

“Not a dicky bird,” says Bagman comfortably. “But she’ll turn up. Poor old Bertha… memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She’ll wander back into the office sometime in October thinking it’s still July.”

“You don’t think it might be time to send someone to look for her?” Mr Weasly suggests as Percy hands Bagman his tea.

“Barty Crouch keeps saying that,” says Bagman, his round eyes widening innocently, “but we really can’t spare anyone at the moment. Oh—talk of the devil! Barty!”

A wizard Apparates at their fireside; Barty Crouch is stiff, upright, somewhat elderly, and dressed in an impeccably crisp suit and tie. The parting in his short grey hair is almost unnaturally straight and his narrow toothbrush moustache looks as though he trimmed it using a slide rule. His shoes are highly polished. He looks stunningly muggle.

“Pull up a bit of grass, Barty,” says Ludo brightly, patting the ground beside him.

“No thank you, Ludo,” says Crouch, a bite of impatience in his voice. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.”

“Oh, is _that_ what they’re after?” says Bagman. “I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent.”

“Mr Crouch!” says Percy breathlessly, sunk into a kind of half-bow which makes him look like a hunchback. Lily averts her eyes and finally tunes out. She doesn’t think she wants to hear.

An hour later, the Malfoys drop by. Lily bids farewell to the Weasleys and joins Draco, who proceeds to explore the rest of the camp.

By dusk, the Ministry seems to have bowed to the inevitable and stopped fighting the blatant signs of magic, and excitement quivers in the air.

Salesmen are Apparating every few feet, carrying trays and pushing carts full of extraordinary merchandise. There are luminous rosettes, green and red for the two teams which squeal the names of the players, pointed green hats bedecked with dancing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves adorned with roaring lions, flags from both countries that play national anthems when they’re waved, tiny models of Firebolts which fly, and collectively figures of famous players, which stroll across the palm of your hand, preening themselves.

Uncle Lucius buys both Lily and Draco Omnioculars right as a deep, booming gong sounds somewhere beyond the woods. At once, green and red lanterns blaze to life in the trees, lighting a path to the field.


	4. The World Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They watch a Quidditch game, and then everything goes wrong.

When they finally arrive at the Top Box, most of the seats are taken but for four right behind Mr Weasley.

“Ah, and here’s Lucius!” Fudge exclaims.

“Fudge,” says Mr Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reaches the Minister of Magic. “How are you? You’ve met my wife, Narcissa, and my son, Draco, and Lily Smythin, I believe.”

“Yes, yes. How do you do, how do you do?” he says, smiling and bowing to Mrs Malfoy. “And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblansk—Obalonsk—Mr—well, he’s the Bulgarian Minister of Magic, and he can’t understand a word I’m saying anyway, so never mind.”

At this, Lily darts a glance at the Bulgarian minister, who, last she met him (just last year) spoke English just fine. He’s barely concealing his amusement.

“And let’s see who else—you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?”

It’s a tense moment. Lily and Draco glance at each other, remembering the summer before second year, when the two had gotten into a public fight in a bookstore.

“Lucius has just given a  _ very _ generous contribution to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. They’re here as my guests.”

“How—how nice,” says Mr Weasley, with a very strained smile.

Mr Malfoy’s lip curls as his gaze passes over them. No words, however, are exchanged, and so it’s relatively peaceful as they take a seat.

The next moment, Ludo Bagman charges into the box.

“Everyone ready?” he says, his round face gleaming. “Minister—ready to go?”

“Ready when you are, Ludo.”

Ludo whips out his wand, directs it at his own throat, and says  _ “Sonorus! _ ” and then speaks over the roar of sound that’s now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoes over, booming into every corner of the stands.

“Ladies and gentlemen… welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

There’s a discordant uproar almost immediately.

First, the Bulgarian team mascots are introduced—full-blooded Veela. Draco and Lily watch a little more excitedly. The Irish, unsurprisingly, have brought their leprechauns, which spray their fake gold everywhere.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome—the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you—Dimitrov!”

A blurred scarlet-clad figure shoots out of the entrance, to the wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters.

He calls out the rest of the names. “Ivanova! Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov!” He draws out the last one—“Aaaaaand—Krum!”

Viktor Krum is thin, dark, and sallow-skinned, with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows, like an overgrown bird of prey.

“He’s only  _ eighteen _ ,” Draco mutters from beside Lily.

“And now, please greet—the Irish National Quidditch Team!” yells Bagman. “Presenting—Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaand— _ Lynch _ !”

Seven green blurs sweep onto the field.

“And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!”

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a moustache, wearing robes of pure gold, strides out onto the field. A silver whistle protrudes from under his moustache and he carries a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other.

When he mounts his broom and kicks the crate open, four balls burst into the air. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shoots into the air, too.

“Theeeeey’re OFF!” screams Bagman. “And it’s Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!”

Draco’s cataloguing every single move and formation of the Irish Chasers, who move like light and switch seamlessly back and forth, an unspoken link tying them together. They’re at 30:0 in no time. Then the Bulgarian Beaters, on one occasion, manage to break apart the Irish formation, allowing Ivanova to score Bulgaria’s first goal.

The Seekers suddenly plummet. Krum and Lynch go straight through the centre of the Chasers; Lily nearly gasps as she watched—

“They’re going to crash!” screams Hermione in front of her. She’s half-right; at the very last second, Viktor Krum pulls out of the dive and spirals off. Lynch, however, hits the ground with a dull thud that rings in the stadium. A huge groan rises from the Irish seats.

“It’s time-out!” yells Bagman’s voice. “As trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch.”

“That was the Wronski Feint,” Draco says. “Look, he’s using the time to scan for the Snitch now.” Lily follows Draco’s gaze to where Krum hovers, dark eyes darting all over the ground, as Lynch is being revived with cups of a potion.

At long last, Lynch gets to his feet, mounts his Firebolt, and kicks back off into the air. In fifteen minutes, the Irish have pulled to 130:10, scoring ten more goals, and the game gets dirtier.

Lily watches with a faintly interested horror as fouls are exchanged and the mascots themselves start fighting, the Veela shifting to fireball-shooting birds. Nevertheless, the game continues overhead. Ireland pulls ahead, all the way to 170 points. Bulgaria hasn’t made a single goal and Krum has a broken, bloody nose when Lynch suddenly goes into a dive.

“He’s seen the Snitch,” Lily murmurs. “Krum’ll have to go for it, then, so Ireland’s won.”

She watches, hawk-eyed, as Krum gets onto his tail, then drawing level, then hurtling towards the ground together—

“They’re going to crash!” Hermione shrieks in front of her, again.

“They’re not!” Ron counters, just as loud.

“Lynch is!” Lloyd yells. For the second time, Lynch hits the ground with tremendous force and is immediately stampeded by a horde of angry Veela.

Krum, however, is ascending, fist held high with a glint of gold in his hand. They’ve finished 160:170, in Ireland’s favour.

“IRELAND WINS!” Bagman shouts, who, like the Irish, seems to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match.

“KRUM GETS THE SNITCH—BUT IRELAND WINS—good lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!”

“He was very brave, wasn’t he?” Lily hears Hermione say in the uproar, as she leans forward to watch Krum land. A swarm of mediwizards blast a path through the battling mascots to get to him. “He looks a terrible mess….”

Lily agrees. The blood from his nose spatters all over him and looks surlier than ever.

“Vell, ve fought bravely,” says the Bulgarian Minister of Magic.

“You can speak English!” Fudge says, sounding outraged. “And you’ve been letting me mime everything all day!”

“Vell, it vos very funny,” says the Bulgarian minister, shrugging. He winks at Lily.

“And as the Irish team performs a lap of honour, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!” Bagman roars. A blinding white light magically illuminates them as the cup is brought into Fudge’s hands, who still looks mildly disgruntled at having to mime uselessly all day.

“Let’s have a really loud hand for the gallant losers—Bulgaria!” Bagman shouts.

Up the stairs come the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below applauds appreciatively; the glint of thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flash in their direction. One by one, the Bulgarians file between the rows of seats in the box and they shake hands with their minister, then Fudge. Krum, last in line, is truly a mess; still holding the Snitch, his two black eyes bloom spectacularly on his bloody face, and he’s infinitely less graceful on the ground than in the air. Nevertheless, the whole stadium gives a resounding, earsplitting roar at his name.

He’s followed by the Irish team. Aidan Lynch is being supported by Moran and Connolly; he looks dazed, eyes strangely unfocused, but he has the presence of mind to grin as Troy and Quigley lift the Cup into the air to resounding approval.

At last, when both teams are gone, Bagman points his wand at his throat and mutters, “ _ Quietus _ .” Then he sighs. “They’ll be talking about this one for years,” he says hoarsely, “an unexpected twist, that… shame it couldn’t have lasted longer…. Ah yes…. Yes, I owe you… how much?” He directs it to Fred and George, who are both grinning, hands outstretched.

Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa do, unfortunately, have to stay longer in the Top Box than the Weasleys, so Draco and Lily make their social rounds as well. When they’re finished, both Draco and Lily look like they could fall asleep at any second, and so they’re hurried back to the peacock tent and told to sleep.

They do. Lily falls asleep almost  _ too _ easily, she thinks, but she welcomes it nonetheless.

Lily is, however, a light sleeper. The moment her background noise changes from the raucous celebration of the Irish, she jerks awake. There’s screaming. Some running.

She takes two breaths, in out, in out, and then grabs her wand, throws a long overcoat on, and enters Draco’s room.

“Something’s happening,” she says as her wand tip lights up with a wordless Lumos. She shoves the light in his face and immediately, he’s up.

“What’s the matter?”

“ _ Hurry _ ,” Lily hisses. “Something’s wrong, I don’t know, there’s screaming—here, change, get your wand.” She tosses a pair of black jeans, a slim t-shirt, and a peacoat at him from his packed bag.

Draco moves quickly, silver wings buoying him midair so he can slip into his clothes with ease. “All right. Are Mother and Father up?” They both listen intently for a second. “They’re up,” he says.

“Should we wait?”

But already, Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa are bursting into their room.

“Good, you’re dressed. Go to the edge of the woods. I don’t think they’ll bother you but go there. We’ll pick you up later,” he says, already fully dressed in a suit, shoes shined. He must catch the worry on both their faces. “We’re not joining the mob. They’re tossing the Muggles in the air, being terrors. We can’t have it on our reputation.”

“Okay,” Draco says. “Where are you going?”

“The house-elves will pack everything up. Your father and I will go prepare the wards on Malfoy Manor, just in case  _ he _ has come back.” Draco’s mother looks as untouchable as always, although her hair is a little less coiffed than normal. “We’ll send our Patronus to you later and you can tell us your location, or find another family.”

Lily nods. “All right. Let’s go, then.”

They hurry out. Lily’s  _ Lumos _ has been extinguished. Outside, something is emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells drift from the tight pack of masked, hooded wizards, marching slowly across the field. Hovering over them are four struggling figures contorted into grotesque shapes—the Robertses, Lily and Draco realize. Strong green light illuminates the scene.

“We’ve got to go,” Lily mutters. “We can’t be caught around it.” Already, people are coming out, fleeing their tents.

More wizards join the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumple and fall as the crowd swells.

“Should we try and  _ help _ them?” Draco asks, looking up to where they’ve flipped Mrs Roberts over to reveal her drawers. He cringes. “Surely we can blast the crowd—we’ve been training with the Elements, and we certainly have the magical power as Veela—”

“What if he is back?” Lily says, thinking back to her dream. “We can’t put your family in danger like that—”

“They’re already in danger,” Draco says. “No, let’s go.” He shudders and grabs Lily’s wrist, pulling her towards the woods.

They stay there, leaning against the trees, feigning a casualness neither of them feels. Occasionally, they’ll cast muted  _ Lumos _ to help children struggling in the dark or they’ll cast basic healing spells at those who come in injured.

Then a familiar voice yells with pain.

“What happened?” Hermione says anxiously. “Ron, where are you? Oh, this is stupid—”

Draco casts a muted Lumos, directs it towards the narrow path. Ron’s lying sprawled on the ground.

“Tripped over a tree root,” he says angrily, getting to his feet again.

“You should hurry,” Lily says. The three Gryffindors whip around to face her and Draco. “You don’t want Hermione spotted.”

At the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounds from the campsite and a flash of green light momentarily lights the trees around them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione says, half defiantly, with an undercurrent of worry.

“They’re blood purists. You need to  _ hurry _ , and soon.”

“Hermione’s a witch,” Lloyd snarls.

“Have it your own way. If you think they won’t recognise her, stay where you are,” Draco says. There comes a bang from the other side of the trees, louder. Several people nearby scream. “Scare easily, don’t they?” he says, lazily. “Mr Weasley must have told you to hide.”

“Where are  _ your _ parents?” Lloyd says. “Out there wearing masks, are they?”

Both Lily and Draco tense. “If you must know,” Lily begins, “they’re back, readying the wards for assault. For the love of Merlin, will you  _ hurry _ ?”

“Keep your head down,” Draco says, “and stick together. Especially you.” He nods towards Hermione.

The next group of people are French. Lily can, somewhat, speak French now, but she lets Draco handle the Beauxbaton students asking for Madam Maxime, the headmistress.

Theo comes by next. “My father’s in the mob,” he manages to grit out. “I’m hiding out here.”

Lily and Draco nod sympathetically and send him off into the woods, too. The mob sweeps past them without injuring them—in fact, one of them pats Draco’s head and nods towards Lily, which has both of them concealing light shudders after.

“I think it’s blown over,” Lily mutters. “We should go see the damage, see if we can fix any of it.”

Draco nods and begins to move when suddenly there’s a shout— 

_ “MORSMORDRE!” _ It comes from the woods.

Lily and Draco both turn to see the Dark Mark, a grotesque thing of a snake coming out of a skull.

“We need to  _ go _ ,” Lily says. Draco nods, faintly.

“Hold on,” he warns, and suddenly there’s a tug and a crack and both of them are in Malfoy Manor. Lily grimaces.

“A  _ warning _ would’ve been nice.”

* * *

The following days, Mr Malfoy is busier than usual. He Apparates to the Ministry before Draco and Lily are even done with breakfast and comes back after dinner, looking impeccable as always except for the deep worry in his eyes.

Lily and Draco piece the story together, partly through Lily also being at the Ministry, partly through newspapers, partly through owls from Hermione, and mostly through information she gets from Padfoot. 

Lily doesn’t spend quite as much time at the Ministry, not with her being a Hogwarts student and all, so the politicians have begun expecting Lady Slytherin’s appearance only during the Winter Session and during important meetings in summer. Otherwise, Lord Black is authorized to speak for her. Most of them expect that Lady Slytherin is simply reclusive, or travelling most of the time; there have been Lords and Ladies who had obligations out of the country, after all. In reality, Lily’s at Hogwarts, but she’s not going to tell Wizengamot that.

It’s no different now. Lily makes the bare minimum of appearances in the building, just enough to say some nice things and gather sufficient information on what happened with the Dark Mark.

Lily’s ‘helping’ Draco with Chaser training, aka them talking as they toss a red Quaffle back and forth.

“The Ministry’s been full of Howlers,” Lily says.

“It’s because of that newspaper article Rita Skeeter wrote, isn’t it, about lax security and bodies being carried out of the forest?” Draco chucks the Quaffle at Lily, who barely catches it.

Lily hums and hits it back like it’s a volleyball. “Yeah, it’s because of the Dark Mark incident.”

“I heard from Theo that the three Gryffindors got caught near it and Barty Crouch’s house-elf, Winky, who had Lloyd’s wand. She’s been given clothes since, although she didn't cast it. They’re suspecting that whoever did Disapparated.”

“I’ll see if I can hire Winky, goodness knows she’ll need another home and Hogwarts’ elves are generally more welcoming,” Lily says. She performs a small flip on her broom to catch the Quaffle. Draco rolls his eyes at her. “But using Lloyd’s wand?  _ Lloyd Potter _ lost his wand?”

“It was in his back pocket,” Draco says.

“I bet whoever cast the  _ Morsmordre _ is the smart and faithful servant who’ll be stationed at Hogwarts,” Lily says and sighs. “I  _ swear _ , though, if it’s the defence professor, I’ll scream.”

“Yeah, you’ve missed the only year we had a decent DADA professor,” Draco says, looking a little too gleeful about it. Lily tosses the Quaffle back at him with more vigour than strictly necessary.

“Do you know who our professor this year  _ is _ ?” she asks.

“Yeah, while you were at Potter Manor, Father told me,” he says. “Mad-Eye Moody, former Auror, is going to be teaching.”

“Oh, I heard about him. Isn’t he a little, well, paranoid?” Lily says.

Draco laughs. “Says  _ you _ .”

“Well, I’ve got a good reason, haven’t I? I’ve got a whole Dark Lord on my tail and a whole Albus Dumbledore to tread carefully around,” Lily says.

He hums, flying farther apart from Lily before he throws the Quaffle at her. “At least we know he won’t be working for the Dark Lord.”

“Unless he’s Polyjuiced,” Lily jokes.

* * *

Lily’s hosting a big family dinner in between the two upcoming Balls which she knows she does, unfortunately, have to attend—one is hosted by the Goyles, and the other is hosted by the Flints, and both are renown for having the most  _ boring _ Balls.

Around the table are the Malfoys, Padfoot and Moony, Uncle Severus, and Pansy. Lily had thought, genuinely considering, about inviting the Weasleys, too, but she decided that she’d rather not give everyone heart attacks in between the two most boring Balls of the Gala season. However, Lily has every intention of finding a way to get the Malfoys and Weasleys to interact civilly someday if only so Draco can reveal how much he knows about Muggle neon lights to Arthur Weasley (which is a lot. He went through a phase when he was eight, according to Uncle Lucius.)

They’re in the middle of dinner, Celestina Warbeck warbling in the background because Pansy likes to make fun of her (Pansy really  _ can _ sing, but with Celestina songs, she chooses to sing rather poorly), when Padfoot speaks.

“So are you telling them, or am I?” he asks.

“Of course  _ I _ am,” Mr Malfoy replies.

“Tell us what?” Pansy asks.

“I’m the older cousin,” Mr Malfoy reminds Padfoot.

“Yes, but I’ve been to all the meetings, unlike you,” Padfoot replies.

“I’ve been briefed on them by the Minister.”

“Cheating.”

“Tell us  _ what _ ?” Draco says.

At the same time, Uncle Severus heaves one of his gusty, disappointment-filled sighs in conjunction with Moony. Uncle Severus looks comically horrified that he’s done  _ anything _ in sync with the Gryffindor werewolf.

“You two are like children,” Moony says.

“Shut up, Mr I-Abandoned-The-Teaching-Post-At-Hogwarts-To-Run-Off-With-The-Goblins,” Uncle Lucius says. “Do you know how  _ awful _ it was to get in another Defence professor? The Headmaster had to start calling in favours from old friends.”

“What were you going to tell us?” Lily asks.

“Right, yes. At Hogwarts this year, there’s going to be—” Padfoot begins.

“The Triwizard Tournament,” Mr Malfoy cuts in and shoots a victorious smirk at Padfoot. Aunt Narcissa looks like she’s going through some basic meditative practices.

“Men,” she mutters under her breath. Her husband kisses her hand.

“Ew, gross,” Padfoot says.

“I seem to recall  _ you _ snogging all over the place at Hogwarts, didn’t I catch you once and take fifty points from Gryffindor?” Uncle Lucius says, gracefully pouring another cup of wine and sliding it to Padfoot.

“ _ Especially _ snogging Moo—”

“ _ Okay! _ ” Padfoot says, his voice suddenly gone shrill. “Anyway, the Triwizard Tournament is being held at Hogwarts this year! Beauxbatons and Durmstrang are going to be participating, too, and they’re travelling to Hogwarts.”

Moony looks placidly amused, Uncle Lucius is only not-laughing by the barest margin and Aunt Narcissa has sharp smile and grip on his wrist, though her lips twitch up amusedly, and Uncle Severus looks like he’s recently choked.

The three fourth-years doubt that it’s the news of the Triwizard Tournament that has that reaction from the adults, but they’ve also learned that there are some things they just don’t want to know, ever.

* * *

Gossip spreads fast, and gossip spreads faster among Slytherins. Knowledge is crucial—social or otherwise—and it’s nearly a type of currency among them.

Sometimes, it’s innocuous—homework help for homework help, relationship news with other relationship news. Frivolous secret for another frivolous secret.

Other times, it’s not—a Dark curse for another artefact, a reputation-ruining secret for a future favour. 

Among friends, where trust runs deep, information is a well of secrets, a well which everyone pours into. And so Draco and Lily join Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Daphne on the train compartment and Pansy immediately begins speaking.

Mad-Eye Moody being their new Defence professor is old news by now, something they’ve all figured out because of each other or their parents. What is new, however, is an incident Pansy brings to the table, one which happened just last night, one that Mr Weasley’s Department was smoothing over early in the morning.

“He thought there was an intrusion last night,” Pansy says, “and my father bets anything that he immediately started firing curses everywhere, but he says his dustbins ambushed him. According to Mad-Eye, they ‘made one hell of a noise and fired rubbish everywhere’. The Muggle neighbours overheard and called the police, some saw the dustbins still moving. Father says he’s gotten much less brilliant in his age. I suppose we’ll have to watch our step around him, especially.”

“None of us  _ fought _ in the war,” Blaise says. “My mother certainly didn’t.”

“Slytherin prejudice, darling,” Pansy says. “My parents weren’t part of the  _ mishap _ during the Quidditch World Cup, but no one’ll believe that, will they?”

“We’ve always been neutral and even  _ we _ got some side-eyes as I walked Astoria onboard,” Daphne says. “Neither of us were even wearing our Slytherin robes.”

“Oh, but the Dark Lord’s possessed the body of a baby,” Lily suddenly says. “I don’t think I told any of you, I didn’t think it was safe over owl, but he’s possessed the body of a baby and Pettigrew, who’s escaped, is feeding him snake milk.”

“ _ What _ ?”


	5. The Welcoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moody enters the scene, finally, and the Triwizard Tournament is revealed! (Some parts of the dialogue are lifted directly from the book. Again, a disclaimer that I am not JK Rowling)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know Blaise and Daphne is not generally a ship, but it came to mind one day and I felt like Blaise and Daphne would get along better than Theo and Daphne, at least with the way I've written them, and help me I'm weak these characters have escaped. (And if you reference Lockhart's Valentine's Day, there is a hint of Blaise and Daphne perhaps becoming a thing even then, which I am a little bit proud of.)

Lily’s grown used to seeing all sorts of magical creatures due to her travels in third-year. Nevertheless, the Thestrals pulling the Hogwarts carriages will never fail to unnerve her and purposefully, she averts her eyes the entire ride through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars, and up the sweeping drive. They’re swaying dangerously in a rather strong gale—the weather doesn’t seem particularly thrilled, either.

Neither does Hogwarts, Lily notes. It doesn’t welcome her the way it did in second year, with a warm rush of magic. It rather feels like she’s getting the cold shoulder from it.

_ Sorry _ , she thinks at the castle.  _ I had to take a break but I promise I’ll be back for the rest of my school career _ .

The magic the castle sends to respond is less than normal and not cheerful, but it’s a start. And besides, the castle provides a shield of magic which the rain rolls off of when they exit the carriages to enter the castle, and no lightning hits them, so Lily thinks she’s at least halfway forgiven.  They rush into the cavernous, torch-lit entrance hall anyway. They don’t pause in front of the marble staircase, no matter its magnificence; everyone’s wet and they’ve all seen this before, anyway.  Shrieks start. Balloons begin dropping from out of the ceiling—Lily scans for Peeves, hovering above the crowd in a bell-covered hat and an orange bow tie.

“PEEVES!” yells Professor McGonagall. “Peeves, come down here at ONCE!” She dashes out of the Great Hall. “Peeves, get down here NOW!” barks Professor McGonagall, straightening her pointed hat and glaring upward through square-rimmed spectacles.

“Not doing nothing!” he cackles, lobbing a water bomb at several fifth-year girls, who scream and dive into the Great Hall. “Already wet, aren’t they? Little squirts! Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” And he aims another bomb at a group of second-years who just arrived.

Lily absentmindedly throws out a hand; the water bomb stops midair and gently lowers to the ground. “Peeves,” she says, her voice ringing through the general commotion. “I’d like my entrance to be less chaotic than this, thanks.”

Peeves pales and zooms off up the marble staircase.

Draco laughs under his breath. “He didn’t bother us last year, but that’s because we told him we were still writing to you.”

“Good,” Lily says.

“Well, move along then!” says Professor McGonagall sharply to the bedraggled crowd. “Into the Great Hall, come on!”

They’re some of the first inside. The Great Hall is much warmer than the entrance, its hundreds of candles floating over the four long House tables, laid out with golden plates and goblets. The faculty table is at the front, most of the faculty already seated, and the ghosts are all waiting at their House tables.

Once everyone else files in, most of the Slytherins greeting Lily, Professor McGonagall commences the Sorting. Lily’s seen the sorting for her second-year, but not her third-year, so she watches attentively this time.

As always, the hat breaks into song:

_ A thousand years or more ago, _

_ When I was newly sewn, _

_ There lived four wizards of renown, _

_ Whose names are still well known: _

_ Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor, _

_ Fair Ravenclaw, from glen, _

_ Sweet Hufflepuff from valley broad, _

_ Shrewd Slytherin, from fen. _

_ They shared a wish, a hope, a dream, _

_ They hatched a daring plan _

_ To educate young sorcerers _

_ Thus Hogwarts School began. _

_ Now each of these four founders _

_ Formed their own House, for each _

_ Did value different virtues _

_ In the ones they had to teach. _

_ By Gryffindor, the bravest were _

_ Prized far beyond the rest; _

_ For Ravenclaw, the cleverest _

_ Would always be the best; _

_ For Hufflepuff, hard workers were _

_ Most worthy of admission; _

_ And power-hungry Slytherin _

_ Loved those of great ambition. _

_ While still alive they did divide _

_ Their favourites from the throng, _

_ Yet how to pick the worthy ones _

_ When they were dead and gone? _

_ ‘Twas Gryffindor who found the way, _

_ He whipped me off his head _

_ The founders put some brains in me _

_ So I could choose instead! _

_ Now slip me snug about your ears, _

_ I’ve never yet been wrong, _

_ I’ll have a look inside your mind _

_ And tell you where you belong! _

The Great Hall rings with applause as the Sorting Hat finishes.

“I wonder how much of its time it actually spends composing these,” Theo mutters, “because if it’s the whole year, I don’t think it’s much of a songwriter.”

Lily laughs. “Nothing impresses you, does it? Not a hat with the brains to create a poem and put it to song?”

Professor McGonagall begins calling out names, unrolling a large scroll.

Lily commits every Slytherin first-year sorted to memory—Malcolm Baddock, Emma Dobbs, Graham Pritchard.

“All half-bloods or branches off of the main families of the Sacred 28,” Draco tells her in an undertone. “Emma Dobbs is promising.”

Lily hums in agreement. “I can almost sense her magic, can you?”

Draco nods as Kevin Whitby goes to Hufflepuff.

Then, Professor Dumbledore gets to his feet, smiling, his arms open in welcome. “I have only two words to say to you,” he tells them, his voice echoing around the hall. “Tuck in.”

Lily takes a full plate but doesn’t feel particularly hungry. The chair for Mad-Eye Moody, she notices, is empty, and Lily can’t help but feel a small chill go through her. Voldemort’s servant is planted at Hogwarts, though, and that’s reason enough to be a little tense, a little paranoid.

She takes a sip of her pumpkin juice instead.

“Can I have that?” Blaise asks, pointing at her untouched plate, specifically the roast duck. Lily glances at the plate she got it from—it’s empty already.

“Mm, go ahead,” she says, only to watch Blaise take the duck and plop it on Daphne’s plate. Lily exchanges a  _ look _ with Draco.

“Oblivious lovesick idiots,” Draco mutters. “I hope I never descend so low.” With vigour, he cuts into his food. “The house-elves put a  _ lot _ more effort into this meal than all of third-year. It’s your personal welcoming feast,” he says.

Lily laughs. “Really?” It gets her to finish her plate, though, and force down some seconds. “I should visit them sometime. Especially Winky, see how she’s settling in.”

“How did you get to her?” Draco asks. “I heard from Father that she went completely off the grid.”

Lily shrugs. “I asked Trinket to talk to her for me. Said that if she wanted a place at Hogwarts, she could meet me at Potter Manor to seal the contract and then go directly there. I promised protection from the law, at the very least. It ended up being Kreacher who found Winky and told her my offer since he heard through the house-elf grapevine that I was searching for her.”

“She was pretty loyal to Crouch, wasn’t she?” Blaise says, leaning forward. “Did she agree so easily?”

Lily shrugs. “I mean, it was that or remain unprotected, and house-elves prefer to have the comfort of a bond with them. And I felt bad for her.”

“Your Gryffindor side of the family is showing,” Pansy says. “I feel like there has to be something more that Winky was fired for, though. I mean, Crouch firing her just for being near a wand… even if she merely disobeyed one order to stay in the tent, well, that’s not much, is it? He’s kept her around though there was that one disastrous time she spilt tea on the Minister. There’s something he’s not letting on.”

Her voice has lowered.

“I’m not going to ask her until she’s not trying to drown her feelings in Butterbeer every night,” Lily says. “Dobby, by the way, has found work here, you’ll be happy to know. He’s got his bond, too, so he’s much happier and healthier, but he’s got the pay and clothes that he wants. Anyway, he’s been reporting to me on her condition.”

Draco stares at her. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

Lily winces. “It slipped my mind and it never really came up, I suppose. But yes, you must’ve been concerned over him.”

“Of course, you know that house-elves that go without a bond too long go  _ insane _ . He taught me how to bake a cake, you know,” Draco says, though it’s mostly faux scolding by now. “Though he also did accidentally set the peacocks loose on Mother’s garden.”

Daphne snorts. “How did your mother take that?”

“Like she always does,” Draco says as the desserts appear in place of the main courses. “The house-elves made an abundance of banoffee pie, look.”

Lily’s laugh is magnetic—along with the Slytherin table, people pause and smile or laugh in response, too—and Draco gazes at her, exasperated.

“You said you had your allure under control.”

“I’m naturally magnetic, this happened before. No one else will notice,” Lily dismisses and serves herself two slices, one with chocolate and the other with coffee.

When the desserts are demolished and the last crumbs fade off the plates, Professor Dumbledore stands again. The chatter ceases at once so that the only noise is the howling wind and pouring rain.

“So!” says Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. “Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.

“Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch’s office, if anybody would like to check it.”

The corners of the headmaster’s mouth twitches, but he continues, “As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third-year.

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”

Draco glances at Lily. “The Triwizard Tournament,” he mouths. There’s a little bit of rueful disappointment in his eyes, no doubt thinking of all the work they put in over the summer to keep in shape for Quidditch, but it’s mostly overshadowed by excitement at the new event taking place. Lily figures it’s in part because of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be coming to Hogwarts, and Durmstrang is the school Uncle Lucius wanted Draco to go to. Aunt Narcissa vetoed it, of course, unwilling to send him so far, but he, and most of Slytherin, is intrigued by the school due to its Darker curriculum.

In such a Light-oriented school, Lily’s had to put in extra work on Dark spells in her spare time so that she can keep her core a completely neutral grey. Now, she’s a Dark Veela—Veela are already Dark-oriented, and Dark Veela are even more so, and Lily’s glad now that Hogwarts is so Light-oriented because that’ll balance it out and return her to a Grey core.

“At least the practice over summer kept us healthy,” she murmurs amidst the uproar the Headmaster’s words have caused. “And we’ll be able to interact with Durmstrang and Beauxbatons.”

“This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up most of the teachers’ time and energy—but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—” the Headmaster goes on, only to be cut off.

There’s a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall bang open.

A man stands in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swivels towards the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashes across the ceiling. He lowers his hood, shakes out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, then begins to walk up toward the teachers’ table.

A dull  _ clunk _ echoes through the Hall on his every other step. Lily scrutinises Moody’s face; it looks as though it’s been carved out of weathered wood by someone who only has the vaguest idea of what human faces look like, and compounded with that, is not too skilled with a chisel. Everything is scarred.

“Perhaps he has reason to be so paranoid,” Draco mutters.

Lily hums her agreement, eyes catching first on his wooden leg and then on his mismatched eyes—one natural, dark and beady, the other larger, round as a coin, and a vivid electric blue. It moves ceaselessly without blinking, providing 360 degrees of insight.

“We can’t mess around in his class at  _ all _ ,” Theo says quietly. “Tread carefully.” There are grave nods.

Mad-Eye Moody (now they know where ‘mad-eye’ comes from) approaches Dumbledore, stretching out a scarred hand, which Dumbledore shakes. Eventually, he goes to the seat on Dumbledore’s right-hand side.

The stranger sits, shakes his mane of dark grey hair out of his face, pulls a plate of sausages towards him, raises it to the remaining part of his mangled nose, and sniffs it. Then, he takes a small knife out of his pocket, spears a sausage on the end of it, and begins to eat. 

His blue eye darts around the Hall. Lily isn’t quite sure why she tenses, but she does—his eyes linger just a bit too long on Lloyd Potter, and then seem to search restlessly.

Lily feels a heavy blanket of magic pressing down on her—it’s Hogwarts’s magic. She lets it settle there; she trusts the castle more than she trusts the new Professor.

“May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher?” says Dumbledore brightly into the silence. “Professor Moody.”

None of the staff or students clap except for Dumbledore and Hagrid. The sound echoes dismally into the silence, everyone else too transfixed with the utterly apathetic former-Auror to react. Moody ignores the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him and instead, pulls out a hip flask from under his travelling cloak and takes a long draught from it.

“Is that normal behaviour?” Lily asks suspiciously. Defence professors have never been kind to her, and a new, scarred professor drinking from a mysterious flask raises red flags.

Pansy nods. “He’s awfully paranoid.”

“All right,” Lily says and settles a little.

Dumbledore clears his throat. “As I was saying,” he says, smiling at the sea of students, all of whom are still transfixed, gazing at the new professor, “we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”

Daphne throws Lily a speculative glance. “Maybe you’re Hogwarts’s bad luck charm,” she says. “If someone dies during this tournament, well.”

Lily winces. “I hope no one dies. The death toll from these games is high enough as it is. Imagine the political backlash if someone dies.”

All six of them shudder. Lily sees some of the eavesdroppers—they’re always there, listening on the edges of her conversation when they’re in public, an unfortunate side effect of being considered the top of Slytherin’s hierarchy (although she hopes that this year, the bodyguard situation when she walks to her classes will stop)—wince, too, giving themselves away.

“You’re JOKING!” Fred Weasley all but shouts. Suddenly, the tension in the hall breaks and everyone laughs, Dumbledore chuckling appreciatively.

“I am  _ not _ joking, Mr Weasley,” he says, “though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar…”

Professor McGonagall clears her throat loudly.

“Er—but maybe this is not the time… no…” says Dumbledore, “where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who  _ do _ know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.”

Next to Lily, she’s aware of Blaise, Theo, and Pansy already tuning out. Lily spares a glance at Draco, who whispers, “They changed some things, we should listen.”

“The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities—until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued.”

“ _ Death toll? _ ” Lily can hear Hermione’s alarmed, not-so-whispery whisper. It merges in with the other excited chatter.

“There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament,” Dumbledore continues, “none of which has been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

“The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their shortlisted contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.”

Everyone suddenly looks much more interested. Lily is beginning to feel a little bit concerned; Bertha Jorkins, after all, worked with the Department of Magical Games and Sports, meaning the Dark Lord knows of the Triwizard Tournament being held.

What a  _ perfect year _ to kidnap, use, and then kill Lily in, especially considering all the death tolls from previous Triwizard Tournaments.

Dumbledore speaks again and the Hall quiets. “Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” he says,” the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year.”

Lily relaxes, imperceptibly, in her seat. An age restriction means she can’t be entered, whether she enters herself or someone else does, hopefully. The magic of Hogwarts seems to give her a comforting pat.

“Only students who are of age—that is to say, seventeen years or older—will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This”—Dumbledore raises his voice slightly, for several people make noises of outrage at his words, and the Weasley twins suddenly look furious—“is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion.” His blue eyes twinkle as they flicker over mutinous faces, particularly Fred and George’s.

Lily only feels relief.

“I, therefore, beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.” Looking around, Lily doesn’t find the prospect of his warning being taken seriously to be very high.

“The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!” he sits down again and turns to talk to Mad-Eye Moody.

“What do you think?” Draco murmurs.

“A perfect opportunity for me to be kidnapped, used, and killed before anyone notices,” Lily replies.

“Perhaps you should’ve spent another year abroad,” Pansy says. “I heard that there’s a very good Japanese school of magic.”

Lily nods. “I visited for a few classes after a pureblood family got me in touch with the Headmistress. It was rigorous, but all very interesting. One elective is Magical Arts and Crafts, too. I learned how to make things like talismans. It’s a bit like runes, but the professors don’t insist you engrave them in rock or something and it’s just Japanese, not some ancient language. We just used calligraphy brush pens and drew the characters on paper.”

“At least you can’t be entered,” Draco says. “I never thought I’d say this, but Dumbledore’s done something right. And the Goblet of Fire will certainly—”

“The Goblet of Fire?” Blaise says.

“The impartial judge he mentioned,” Daphne says. She’s clinging to his arm. The other four Slytherins exchange glances which range from amusement to exasperation.

“As I was  _ saying _ before some lovesick idiots interrupted me,” Draco says, only to be cut off once more by Blaise and Daphne’s sputtering. It’s followed by laughter from the other four as they enter the Slytherin common room.


	6. Classes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have Run-Ins with Moody which are not necessarily pleasant, especially for the Slytherins.

By the morning, the storm’s blown out, leaving behind a gloomy sky of heavy pewter-grey clouds. Lily and Draco examine their schedules at breakfast, over chocolate dessert scones Lily has seen fit to call breakfast.

“We’ve got Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws first and then… oh, Care’s still with the Gryffindors,” Draco says. “Well, so long as we’re not doing anything stupid in classes, I won’t complain.”

“Afternoon we’ve got double Arithmancy and that’s all, isn’t it?”

“Mm. I think you’ll like Professor Vector,” Draco says. “Arithmancy isn’t as popular so we’re a merged class, mostly Ravenclaw but some Slytherins, two or three Hufflepuffs, and Hermione Granger.”

There’s a rustling of wings overhead and they all glance upwards. Draco’s eagle owl lands, laden with parcels of sweets and cakes from home.

“Mother’s packed your chocolate too,” Draco says, tossing the bag next to Lily’s plate. “And the usual letter. How are you settling in, things like that… oh, there’s a mention of the Triwizard Tournament, too. She doesn’t want us to try to enter.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” Lily says. She’s noticed that every time she enters Mad-Eye’s presence, Hogwarts’s magic presses down on her, and that’s preoccupying more of her attention than the upcoming prospect of a potentially-deadly tournament.

“We need to find a day for flying,” Draco says. “Veela flying, of course. I could care less about the broom part.”

“We could finish homework at the library, go get a snack from the kitchens, and then head to the Come-and-Go Room,” Lily says.

Draco nods. “That sounds fine. Remember when you first dragged me there to learn physical combat?”

Lily laughs. “Can you still punch?”

“We can see if that’s stuck with me when we’re in the Come-and-Go Room, too,” he says, rather drily.

* * *

Transfiguration passes with minimal incident, the only memorable thing being a Ravenclaw who’s caught passing notes with her friend. They’re let out a little late, a minute after the booming bell, but that’s not particularly abnormal, especially for the first day.  They troop across the wet grounds, down the sloping lawn toward Hagrid’s small wooden cabin standing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.  Hagrid’s standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang, who is frothing to investigate the several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet. It’s followed by odd rattling noises and minor explosions puncturing that rhythm every so often.

“On’y jus’ hatched,” Hagrid says proudly as they approach, “so yeh’ll be able ter raise ‘em yourselves! Thought we’d make a bit of a project of it!”

The Slytherins stand there in what is considered gaping for them, mostly gazing down in distaste.

“And why would we  _ want _ to raise them?” Draco asks, staring at the creatures—deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, legs sticking out in odd places and no visible heads. There are perhaps too many of them to be considered safe or humane, all of the six-inch things crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They smell a bit like rotting fish, and now and then, sparks fly out the end of one of them, and with a small  _ phut _ it’s propelled forward several inches.

“What  _ are _ they, Hagrid?” Lily asks.

“Blast-ended Skrewts,” he says, still looking stumped by Draco’s question.

“I mean, what do they  _ do _ ?” Draco clarifies. “What is the  _ point _ of them?”

Hagrid opens his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there are a few seconds of pause, then he says roughly, “Tha’s next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus’ feedin’ ‘em today. No, yeh’ll wan’ ter try ‘em on a few diff’rent things—I’ve never had ‘em before, not sure what they’ll go fer—I got ant eggs an’ frog livers an’ a bit o’ grass snake—just try ‘em out with a bit of each.”

“They… don’t have mouths,” Lily says, staring at them. “How…  _ what _ ? Hagrid, how did you get these?”

Hagrid doesn’t answer—instead, he very purposefully averts his eyes.

“I bet he bred them himself,” Draco mutters under his breath. Very reluctantly, he uses his wand to levitate frog liver into the crates to tempt the Skrewts. Lily tosses ant eggs in, pretending that they’re mini-basketballs and the crate is the all-too-large hoop.

“ _ Ouch! _ ” yells Dean Thomas after about ten minutes. “It got me!”

Hagrid hurries over to him, looking anxious.

“Its end exploded!” Dean says angrily, showing Hagrid a burn on his hand.

“Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off,” Hagrid says, nodding as if that’s perfectly normal.

“I would  _ understand _ if these had a  _ use _ ,” Pansy mutters as she pinches the skin of a dead grass snake bit and unceremoniously tosses it into a crate, “but they  _ don’t _ .”

One of them gives another mini-explosion and propels off. All of them grimace.

“Eurgh!” Lavender Brown says. “Eurgh, Hagrid, what’s that pointy thing on it?”

“Stingers,” Draco mutters, staring at the pointy bit on a skrewt currently trying to scale the crate’s wall.

“Ah, some of ‘em have got stings,” says Hagrid enthusiastically as Lavender quickly withdraws her hand from the box. “I reckon they’re the males…. The females’ve got sorta sucker things on their bellies…. I think they might be ter suck blood.”

Lily wonders why he’s so joyful about this. She can understand the dragons in first-year—dragons are pretty  _ and _ useful. Skrewts are neither.

“Well, I can certainly see why we’re trying to keep them alive,” says Draco sarcastically. “Who wouldn’t want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?”   


Hermione bristles, taking it as a personal insult to Hagrid, as Pansy doesn’t even bother to conceal her laughter.

“Just because they’re not very pretty, it doesn’t mean they’re not useful,” Hermione snaps. “Dragon blood’s amazingly magical, but you wouldn’t want a dragon for a pet, would you?” she says.

“So tell me the use of these things,” Draco says, idly using his wand to flick another frog liver into the box. None of the skrewts are eating anything. Lily’s fairly certain they don’t have mouths.

“Well, at least the skrewts are small for now,” Lily says.

“They are  _ now _ ,” Pansy says, “but once we’ve found out what they eat, I expect they’ll be six feet long.”

“I think it would be better to kill them now before they start attacking us all,” Lily mutters. “This is why magical creature breeders are so regulated.”

The entire bucket of ant eggs is dumped into her crate. If the weight crushes some of the hundreds of skrewts… well, it’s not as if anyone will notice, what with the sheer numbers of them. 

“I swear, if he makes us walk them like pets,” Pansy says, following suit and throwing the entire bin of snake bits in, “I will start a revolt.”

“I expect most of us will join it,” Draco says.

When the bell rings to signify the end of class and the start of lunch, the Slytherins make perhaps the quickest departure known to man.

“We should do our Transfiguration homework after lunch,” Pansy says. “Then after classes, we can head to the Great Lake. I expect it’ll be pretty full, considering the storm yesterday.”

Draco hums an agreement and hastily, they eat lunch before hurrying to the library.  Hermione Granger’s there, too, looking up house-elf treatises. All six of them ignore her; Hermione Granger being in the library is not anything remotely surprising.

* * *

Arithmancy finishes with Professor Vector assigning no homework but being fully impressed with Lily. However, when they meet Pansy, just out of Divination, Pansy’s brow is furrowed only slightly.

“You’ll get wrinkles,” Lily says as greeting. “What happened?”

“She wants a detailed analysis of the way the planetary movements in the coming month will affect me, with reference to my personal chart. Due next week,” Pansy groans. “It’s time to stretch my imagination, once again. I’m sure the Saturn in my personal chart means that I’ll die sometime in the coming month.”

Draco pats Pansy’s back. “We got no homework,” he says, “and a load of points for Slytherin.” Pansy rolls her eyes at them.

“I’ll join you two hours before dinner at the Great Lake,” she says. “You go do whatever Veela things you were planning to.”

“Yes sir,” Draco intones, completely flat, before they separate.

* * *

They’re headed towards the Great Lake from the Come-and-Go Room, where after they flew, Draco and Lily proceeded to engage in a competition to see how many dummies they could punch or kick over before the other.  There, they run into the three Gryffindors.

“You don’t  _ really _ think the Skrewts are worth it, do you?” Draco asks immediately. Lily conceals her wonderment. Apparently, over third-year, in her absence, Draco’s relationship with the Gryffindors has vastly improved.

“They’re  _ disgusting _ ,” Ron says fervently. “Where d’you even think he  _ got _ them?”

“Bred them, probably,” Lily says. “Do they have mouths?”

Lloyd nods. “I thought they didn’t, either! We should start a petition or something,” he grumbles.

Hermione nods. “If they live, they’ve got to be a safety hazard. And Pansy mentioned that she’s waiting for you two down at the Lake, by the way.”

“Oh, we should go,” Draco says, “if we don’t want to get our heads ripped off.”

Lily laughs, clear and bright in the mostly-empty hallway. She’s in a better mood, perhaps, because the Slytherin bodyguards are no longer a thing. “We should. See you three later,” she says as they pass.  Out of the corner of her eye, there’s a flicker of movement at the end of the corridor. Immediately, Draco’s wand flicks out to his hand, a streak of light trailing the wand tip—Lily hasn’t been the only tense one.  There’s a loud bang followed by a white-hot streak—Draco ducks it and casts a shield. Moody limps out of the corridor.  All five of them stare at him.

“What was  _ that _ ?” Ron says.

“I don’t like people who attack when their opponent’s back’s turned,” Moody grows. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do….”   


All five of them continue to stare at him.

“What?” Hermione finally asks.

“I’d say that that’s what  _ you _ did,” Lily says. “We didn’t even see you before you fired whatever  _ that _ was.”

His eyes fix on her. Lily keeps her mental defences up. Then his eyes go back to Draco.  “Don’t deny it, now. Planning to attack Mr Potter, weren’t you?”

The five of them stare at him with even more evident confusion.

“Sorry,  _ what _ ?” Lloyd asks. “We’ve never cast hexes at each other before if that’s what you’re confused on.”

“Well, Lily did have me eat slugs once—”

“You told me my blood wasn’t pure enough for the Slytherin Quidditch team to get me a new broom, Ronald—”

“You didn’t curse Lloyd when he accidentally called you  _ that _ in first-year—”

“Well, it was the first day of first-year, wasn’t it, I wouldn’t have known any curses—”

“I thought we were all over that misstep—” Lloyd jumps in.

“We are,” Lily says.

At the same time, Draco says, “We need to be going, Pansy’s waiting for us.” They split again, leaving the new Defence professor with confusion across his face.

* * *

The next day passes without great incident. 

Neville somehow melts a sixth cauldron in Double Potions on Tuesday, giving Professor Snape a near-aneurysm and landing Neville detention in the evening where he’s meant to disembowel a barrel of horned toads. After lunch, they have Herbology with Ravenclaw, where they collect bubotuber pus, and then following that most of fourth-year Slytherin head to Ancient Runes.

On Wednesday, Lily receives an enthusiastic welcome-back from Flitwick in Charms. Professor McGonagall, to business as always, already has them preparing for a new spell in Transfiguration and keeps them a minute overtime as always before released to lunch. With no small amount of trepidation, they approach Hagrid’s hut after lunch, but all of them successfully avoid injury in Care of Magical Creatures. (Hagrid still has no answer to Draco’s question of the Skrewts’s uses, nor does he seem to know what the Skrewts eat, yet. Some of them seem to have died of starvation. Lily still holds onto the hope that the skrewts do not have mouths, and as a result, will all starve to death.)

Then, it’s Defence Against the Dark Arts with Moody. It’s with equal parts interest and fear that they take their seats and wait for the professor’s entrance.  They hear him before he arrives; his distinctive clunking footsteps give him away. He takes the front of the classroom and glares balefully down at all of them. All of them refuse to give or look away.

“You can put those away,” he growls as he stumps over to the desk and finally sits down, “those books. You won’t need them.”

Quietly, they put their copies of  _ The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _ into their bags.  Moody takes out a register, shakes his long man of grizzled grey hair out of his scarred face, and begins to call out names, one eye fixed on the paper and the other swivelling around to find each student. His gaze fixes on Lily for a second too long,  _ again _ . Immediately afterwards, Hogwarts’s magic presses down on her. Lily conceals a shudder.

“Right then,” he says, when the last person declares themselves present, “I’ve had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you’ve had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures—you’ve covered boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?”

There’s a general murmur of assent.

“But you’re behind—very behind—on dealing with curses. Or, according to  _ curriculum _ , at least,” he says, tone heavily inflicted with suspicion, “you are. So I’m here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I’ve got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark curses, so—straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I’m supposed to teach you countercurses and leave it at that. I’m not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you’re in the sixth year. You’re not supposed to be old enough to deal with it till then. But Professor Dumbledore’s got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you’re up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you’ve never seen? A wizard who’s about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he’s about to do. He’s not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. You need to put that away, Mr Crabbe, when I’m talking.”

Apparently, the magical eye can see through wood—Vincent looks up, not even vaguely sheepish, as he puts the whirling, flashing Sneakoscope hidden under his desk away. Lily doesn’t miss the significance of the Sneakoscope lighting up—mostly, the fourth-year Slytherins are trustworthy for Vincent, especially as he’s under Draco’s protection, so that leaves… well, that only leaves Mad-Eye Moody who’s untrustworthy.

But Lily knew that already.

“So… do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by Wizarding law?”

No one’s hands rise.

“Surely  _ you, _ of everyone, know,” Moody growls. “Just one of the Unforgivables, then.”

Blaise’s hand rises with an easy, but faked, confidence. His mother is furthest distanced from the war, at least, so he’s the safest speaking in this classroom. Moody nods at him. “The Imperius Curse,” Blaise says.

“Ah, yes. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse.” He gets heavily to his mismatched fee, opens his desk drawer, and takes out a glass jar. Three large black spiders scuttle around inside it.

He reaches into the jar, catches one, and holds it in the palm of his hand so they can all see it. Then, he points his wand at it and mutters, “ _ Imperio! _ ”

The spider leaps from his hand on a fine thread of silk and begins to swing back and forward as though on a trapeze. It stretches out its legs rigidly, then does a backflip, breaking the thread, and landing on the desk, where it begins to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerks his wand and the spider rises onto two of its hind legs and performs what is unmistakably a tap dance.  No one laughs, but they relax slightly.

“Total control,” says Moody quietly as the spider balls itself up and begins to roll over and over. “I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats… years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse. Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act and who was acting of their own free will.”

Lily wonders why they didn’t just feed everyone Veritaserum.

“The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I’ll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone’s got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he barks. Everyone jumps.

Moody picks up the somersaulting spider and throws it back into the jar.  “Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?”

Daphne raises her hand this time. “The Cruciatus,” she says.

Moody nods. “The Cruciatus Curse,” he says, “needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea.” He points his wand at the spider. “ _ Engorgio! _ ”

It swells larger than a tarantula. He raises his wand again, points it at the spider, and mutters, “ _ Crucio! _ ”

At once, the spider’s legs bend in upon its body; it rolls over and begins to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound comes from it, but Lily and Draco know from experience that it would be screaming if it had a voice. He doesn’t remove his wand and the spider starts to shudder and jerk more violently.  Lily supposes there are worse things to watch, though she doesn’t like watching it. 

After all, there is a large difference between seeing a traitor, someone who has stolen your family from you, writhe on the ground in pain under your hand, even only for minutes (Pettigrew, Christmas break of her first year), seeing a creature you don’t particularly like in pain under someone else’s hand like this spider, and seeing someone you love in the same pain under someone else’s hand. There’s perhaps a more notable difference between  _ this _ and having a regimen where friends place Cruciatus curses on each other to build tolerance (she and Draco, all too aware of what the future might hold. Better safe than sorry, especially since if one doesn’t build tolerance and then gets hit with a high-level Cruciatus for too long… well, the impacts aren’t pretty, and the not-so-secret secret of the Longbottoms is testament to that.)

Finally, Moody raises his wand. All of the Slytherins are a little pale, nonetheless. The spider’s legs relax, but it continues to twitch.  Lily remembers still twitching after Draco sent one a little too strong at her, and Draco doing the same one time in the Room of Requirement.

“ _ Reducio _ ,” Moody mutters. The spider shrinks back to its proper size and he puts it back into the jar. “Pain,” he says softly. “You don’t need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse…. That one was very popular once, too.”

Everyone is silent, a quiet wash of disapproval from most of the Slytherins.

“Right… anyone know any others.”

Lily raises her hand.

“Yes?”

“The Killing Curse,” she says.

“Ah,” says Moody, another slight smile twisting his lopsided mouth. “Yes, the last and worst.  _ Avada Kedavra _ … the Killing Curse.”  The third spider scuttles frantically around the bottom of the jar, evidently trying to evade Moody’s fingers as he goes to pick it up, but he traps it nad places it upon the desktop. It starts to scuttle frantically across the wooden surface.  Moody raises his wand. Hogwarts’s magic presses further down on Lily, almost as if trying to stop her from seeing the method of her parents’ death.

“ _ Avada Kedavra! _ ” Moody roars. A flash of blinding green light—Lily understands why they call her eyes ‘similar to Avada Kedavras’ now—and a rushing sound. Instantaneously, the spider rolls over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakably dead.

“Not nice,” he says calmly, sweeping the dead spider off his desk and onto the floor. “Not pleasant. And there’s no countercurse. There’s nothing blocking it. Only one known person has ever survived it.”

Draco and Pansy’s gazes rest on Lily, heavy like Hogwarts’s magic. Lily unclenches her hands and makes an effort to listen to the professor again.

“ _ Avada Kedavra _ ’s a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it—you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, and I doubt I’d get so much as a nosebleed. But that doesn’t matter. I’m not here to teach you how to do it.

“Now, if there’s no countercurse, why am I showing you?  _ Because you’ve got to know _ . You’ve got to appreciate what the worst is. You don’t want to find yourself in a situation where you’re facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he roars. No one jumps again, but there are a few flinches from the class.

“Now… those three curses—the Killing Curse, Imperius, and Cruciatus—are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That’s what you’re up against. That’s what I’ve got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice  _ constant, never-ceasing vigilance _ . Get out your quills… copy this down….”  And that’s what they spend the rest of the lesson doing. No one speaks until the bell rings, but when it does and Moody dismisses them, chatter breaks forth once they’re out of earshot.

“He’s not planning on doing the same demonstration tomorrow for the Gryffindors, is he?” Lily murmurs.

Realization dawns on the other Slytherins’ faces. “Neville’s in that class,” Pansy says. “His parents—in St Mungo’s—”

“It won’t be pleasant for him if he does. Certainly, Moody wouldn’t,” Daphne says, though she sounds doubtful.

“Sure, but a warning wouldn’t go amiss, would it?” Theo says. “And he  _ knows _ we know about his parents, it’s one of the secret not-secrets among purebloods.”

“Moody wouldn’t think that Longbottom’s  _ prepared _ to see the way his parents were driven insane,” Blaise says. “He’s not so far gone yet.”

Draco looks doubtful. “He might do it on purpose. Did you hear him?”

All six of them grimace and hurry off to the library to finish their homework.

* * *

The next morning, Lily goes to the Gryffindor table to talk to Neville. Instead, she’s ambushed by Hermione.

“Lily! What do you know about house-elves?” Hermione asks.

Lily stares at her in surprise. “They’re mostly associated with ancient Houses. Potter Manor has two. Padfoot has Kreacher. You can talk to the house-elves in the kitchens, too. They’re all very powerful in terms of magic.”

“You  _ own _ house-elves?” Hermione asks, looking scandalized. “But that’s like slavery!”

“It depends on the family a house-elf is bonded to, I suppose,” Lily says, still confused. “Arguably, if a family’s smart, they treat the house-elves well. It’s a mutually-beneficial relationship, mostly.”

“ _ Where _ ? House-elves don’t get vacation days or sick leave or even paid!”

“They don’t get sick,” Lily says. “Their magic acts as a defence. It’s impossible to get a house-elf sick. They’re not completely isolated, either. Their social web is pretty large. They can pretty much Apparate anywhere, most families don’t put a limit on their travel. Most house-elves prefer to stay close to where they’re bonded to, though. And please, try paying a house-elf. They get offended unless the house-elf in question is Dobby.”

Hermione gapes at her.

Lily sighs. “We can go to the kitchens sometime. You can talk to the house-elves there. Dobby and Winky are both there, too.”

“Winky?”

Lily nods and sighs. “She went into a sort of seclusion after she was given clothes. Do not, for the love of Merlin, bring up Barty Crouch in front of her.”   


“What’s so  _ bad _ about being given clothes? They get freedom, don’t they?”

Lily stares at Hermione. “House-elves need bonds,” she says. “If you give a house-elf clothes, it breaks the bond. What brought this on?”

“Winky was treated so horribly—”

“Oh.” Lily nods. She’s not a fan of the way Barty Crouch has been rumoured to treat his house-elf, either. “Yes, some people are, unfortunately, crappy people to serve. Maybe I should propose some measure for the winter session…” she trails off. “Well, if you want, you can find me anytime to go to the kitchens. Or go yourself.”

Lily turns to find Neville, who’s a little farther down the table. “I’m going to go talk to Neville, nice seeing you,” she says, smiling, letting a little bit of allure drip out. Half of the Gryffindor table looks back and smiles, too.

“Alright, see you,” Hermione says, looking as if she’s chewing on the information Lily’s just dumped on her. She’s already gone, though, sliding into the seat next to Neville.

“Hey,” she says.

Neville glances up. “Oh! Lily, hi!”

“I thought you deserved a warning, at least. Yesterday, in our class, we got a practical demonstration of all three Unforgivables.” She gazes, wide-eyed, at him. “No one would judge you if you went to the Hospital Wing during that class.”

Neville’s gone a bit pale. He nods. “Thanks,” he manages to say. “I might do that.”

“No problem,” she says. Then she starts talking about a new plant she’s read about with Neville because Neville’s favourite subject is Herbology and he looks as if he needs a distraction.


	7. New Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrive!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've probably all forgotten about Lily's first winter break at Wizengamot, but I have not and it's referenced here! Like, barely. It's like an Easter Egg hunt. And I'm not entirely sure if "Is he gay or European" fits into Hogwarts at this time period, but this is an author's creative liberty at work.

Lessons suddenly sharply progress in difficulty. Moody’s Defence class, especially, grows more and more demanding—to their surprise, he announces one day that he’ll be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether they can resist its effects.  Most of the pureblood Slytherins, who’ve been trained and especially so in the Mind Arts (and especially after Voldemort), can fight it.  When Lily steps up, Moody’s eyes, both of them, glint. “ _ Imperio! _ ” he casts.

An unsettling sense of relaxation and happiness swims through the black ocean and approaches her mind. That sensation of full relaxation accompanied by apathetic joy is her first indicator that something is off.

Immediately, her next wall of mental defences springs up and she tenses, imperceptible. Whispering at the edge of her defences comes Moody’s voice:  _ Jump onto the desk… jump onto the desk…. _

Lily stares at Moody. Of all the commands he could’ve given, and he wants her to  _ jump onto a desk _ ?  Moody’s glaring at her, mostly confused.

“Jump onto a  _ desk _ ? Really?” she says, fully unimpressed.  It’s then that he seems to realize that the spell has  _ worked _ , technically, but Lily happens to throw it off easily.

Class ends with homework and the Slytherins walk off, a notable cloud of despair over them. 

In Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall’s homework load has significantly increased, despite the Slytherin class being the only class to fully and successfully turn a hedgehog into a pincushion. Pansy’s received top marks in Divination for her made-up stories but is less amused by having to do it all over again; Arithmancy has a new chart due every class; Ancient Runes has an entire fifteen lines of translation due every class; Professor Binns has them writing weekly essays on goblin rebellions in the eighteenth century (most of the Slytherins have started recycling essays, because Binns doesn’t particularly care or notice, anyway); Professor Flitwick has them reading three extra books, although short ones, in preparation for their lesson on Summoning Charms (which most of Slytherin blows off, as they’ve already learned Summoning Charms); in Astronomy, the professor wants them to do a weekly chart of the planets; Moody himself has assigned readings on how to throw the Imperius Curse off, too.  They take Professor Snape’s homework on researching antidotes a bit more seriously, as he seems to hint that he’ll be poisoning them the Friday on October 30th. Lily and Draco have entire plans to find a bezoar and present  _ that _ as an antidote.

Amid this homework, Lily has once again resumed her role as the person that younger years go to for help. Already, she has walked Ginny through a Runes translation, Luna through a Herbology essay, Stewart Ackerly with his first first-year Transfiguration assignment, and given countless directions and facilitated almost too many inter-House friendships. Lily supposes that it’s helped by how the six fourth-year Slytherins and the three fourth-year Gryffindors get on well enough, even daring to tease one another. And among this, Lily’s seen the effect of the new magical introduction system implemented during the Winter Break of her first-year; the first-years this year seem to know wizarding custom much more and their handwriting with a quill is significantly better.  Lily thinks it’s just pent-up aggression that they’ve all decided to take as jokes just to avoid fighting so often, but whatever works is what she’ll accept.

Meanwhile, in one Care class, Hagrid delightedly suggests that they come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behaviour. The skrewts are growing at a remarkable pace despite no one knowing what they eat,  _ or _ whether they have mouths or not.

“I will not,” Draco says flatly when Hagrid proposes it. “We see them enough during lessons to record extraordinary behaviour, and I’d rather not end up in the hospital wing when one of these goes off.”

Hagrid’s smile fades. “Yeh’ll do wha’ yer told,” he growls.

They do not. Hagrid, however, cannot be particularly mad, especially since they return more useful notes and information on skrewt behaviour than all the Gryffindors who show up on the alternate evenings.

(Lily is the one who discovers what they eat. They don’t eat; they photosynthesize, which is why they’re always fighting to be in the sun. Lily shuts about half of them in the dark for a week to discover this and does not regret the three crates of dead skrewts at all.)

At the end of that lesson, they arrive in the entrance hall and find themselves unable to proceed due to the large crowd of students milling around a large sign erected at the foot of the marble staircase.  Hogwarts clears a subtle path for Lily to approach the sign.

**TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT**

The delegations from Beauxbatons and  Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock  on Friday the 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early. Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.

“Only a week away!” Ernie Macmillan, a Hufflepuff, crows next to Lily, eyes gleaming. “I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I’ll go and tell him….”   


Lily thinks Cedric would be a fine candidate, better than the twin Weasleys, at the very least. It's not necessarily that the Weasley twins would be bad, but rather that they are much more suited to pranks on dangerous magical creatures than playing it safe and trying to accomplish the mission set for them.

As the weeks wear on, drawing nearer and nearer to October 30th, the castle undergoes a thorough cleaning—grimy paintings are scrubbed, suits of armour are suddenly gleaming and oiled, and Argus Filch is behaving so ferociously to students who forget to wipe their shoes that two first-year girls are terrified into hysterics.  Lily finds Mrs Nott prowling around a lot more often, too.  And the professors are tense, as well; Lily hears in the Slytherin common room that Professor McGonagall snaps at Neville for not performing a Switching Spell properly, and although Professor Snape hasn’t had much time to talk with Lily and Draco already this year, it’s suddenly much worse—even their weekly meetings he has to cancel. The house-elves are looking more spirited, as they are wont to do when they have a task of setting a place straight for impressing others.

* * *

The morning of the thirtieth of October, the Great Hall is decorated. Enormous silk banners hang from the walls, each representing a Hogwarts House: green with a silver serpent for Slytherin, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, and red with a gold lion for Gryffindor. Behind the teacher’s table, the largest banner bears the Hogwarts coat of arms.

“They’ve gone all out,” Draco marvels.

Lily hums. “Look, the candles are even scraped clean.” And indeed they are; any lumps of melted and reformed wax are gone from the candles.

As the post comes in, any dropped feathers promptly vanish.

Pansy shares the contents of her letter with the rest of them. “Karkaroff, the Headmaster of Durmstrang, apparently had second thoughts about going because he heard Moody was part of the faculty. But he has to, you know, the Heads of participating schools always have to be part of the panel of judges.”   


“I imagine they’re terrified already, remember the infamous 1792 cockatrice which escaped and killed the three of them?” Theo says. “And Karkaroff’s suspected to be in the Dark Lord’s camp, and with Moody. Well.”

Blaise snorts as he spears another pancake.

“What’s up with him?” Pansy stage-whispers to Daphne.

“He’s upset about having to stay for winter break,” Draco supplies. “You know, the traditional Yule Ball. Mandatory for us to attend. By the way, Lily, we’re going together, yes?”

Lily nods and then swallows her bite of strawberry. “Yes, I suspect that’s why your mother snuck those black velvet robes into your trunk when you weren’t looking. You know, sometimes I feel like wearing something so green is almost garish.”

“It’s not,” Pansy’s quick to reassure. “Who d’you think I should go with? Ronald Weasley’s certainly going with Hermione Granger. Cedric Diggory will definitely ask Cho Chang. Theo, are you asking Astoria Greengrass or me?”

Theo laughs. “I’ll ask you if you can’t find any other boy to stand.”

“Well, I won’t go with Longbottom, but I won’t hear the end of it if I don’t go with another pureblood.”

“Maybe you’ll find a French boy,” Lily says as Daphne begins humming, quietly, the tune of ‘is he gay or European’.

* * *

For the rest of the day, not much gets done. No one is particularly attentive in classes, not even Defence. When the bell rings early in Potions, they all hurry to their dorms, deposit their things as instructed, pull on their cloaks, and rush back downstairs to the entrance hall.  The Heads of Houses are ordering their students into lines, first-years in front to the seventh-years in the back.

“Lily, Draco,” Professor Snape calls, having them join the front with the prefects. “You’ll be prefects next year, anyway,” he mutters. “You can help as many Gryffindor first-years as you want, Lily, so long as they don’t think that’s permission to be casual with  _ me _ .”  Lily and Draco both laugh.  They file down the steps and line up at the front of the castle. It’s a cold, clear evening; dusk is falling and a pale, translucent-ish moon already shines over the Forbidden Forest.

“Nearly six,” Draco says, taking a moment to check his watch. “Do you know how they’re coming?”

“I assume Beauxbatons will come like always. Carriages pulled by Abraxan. Durmstrang… well, Karkaroff mentioned in his letter that they’re taking a more unique mode of travel this year, so no carriages,” Professor Snape says. Then he disappears to the back, presumably to join with the other teachers, leaving the handling of the younger years in their hands.  That’s fine; the younger Slytherins want to impress, anyway, and that’ll be through keeping their cool when whatever massive magical contraption that bears the visiting schools finally comes to them.

Then Dumbledore calls out from the back row—

“Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”

The announcement is followed by several eager shouts of  _ ‘Where?!’ _ all from the other three houses.

Then, a Gryffindor sixth-year points over the forest and yells, “ _ There _ !”

Something hurtles across the deep blue sky towards the castle, growing larger all the while.

“It’s a dragon!” shrieks one of the Hufflepuff Muggleborns.

“Don’t be stupid… it’s a flying house!” says Dennis Creevey, whom Lily has tutored in Potions and tried to implement some amount of manners into, with some success.  Technically, Dennis’s guess is closer. As the gigantic black shape skims over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, it comes into the light and relief; it’s a gigantic, powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring towards them and pulled through the air by a dozen elephant-sized, winged, palomino Abraxan.

The front three rows of students draw backwards as the carriage hurtles ever lower, coming into land at a tremendous speed—then, with an almighty crash, the horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage lands too, bouncing upon its vast wheels. Lily notes that these Abraxan have fiery red eyes.  The door of the carriage bears a coat of arms, two crossed golden wands, each emitting three stars, which opens. A boy in pale blue robes jumps down from the carriage with surprising agility, given the harsh landing of the carriage, and bends forward, fiddling with something on the carriage floor, before unfolding a set of golden steps. He springs back respectfully.  Madame Maxime exits, about the size of Hagrid, olive-skinned with large, black eyes and a rather beaky nose. Her hair is drawn back into a neat, shining knob at the nape of her neck. Opals glitter around her neck and on her fingers, and she’s dressed head to foot in black satin.  They begin to clap. Many of the other Houses have students standing on tiptoe to gaze at the headmistress, whose face relaxes into a gracious smile as she walks forward to Dumbledore, extending a hand. Dumbledore barely has to bend to kiss it. Lily takes note of her students, all older teenagers, tall and mostly blond, all shivering in their robes made of thin silk, none of them wearing cloaks. They stare at Hogwarts apprehensively. Lily figures that’s fair.

“My dear Madame Maxime,” Dumbledore says, “welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Dumbly-dorr,” says Madame Maxime in a deep voice. “I ‘ope I find you well?”

“In excellent form, I thank you,” says Dumbledore.

“My pupils,” Madame Maxime says, waving a hand behind her. “‘As Karkaroff arrived yet?” she asks.

“He should be here any moment,” says Dumbledore. “Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?”

“Warm up, I think,” says Madame Maxime. “But ze ‘orses—”

“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them,” says Dumbledore, “the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other—er—charges.”

“Skrewts,” Draco mutters.

“I’m evicting them someday,” Lily replies in an undertone.

“My steeds require forceful ‘andling,” Madame Maxime says, looking as though she doubts whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts is up to the job. “Zey are very strong….”

“I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job,” says Dumbledore, smiling.

“Very well,” says Madame Maxime, bowing slightly. “Will you please inform zis ‘Agrid zat ze ‘orses drink only single-malt whiskey?”

“It will be attended to,” says Dumbledore, also bowing.

“Horses with taste,” Draco murmurs, slightly smiling at one of the horses, who’s taken an interest in him.

“Come,” says Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, who follow her through the parted Hogwarts crowd.

They stand, shivering in the air despite the cloaks, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive.

“Cast a Warming charm with me,” Lily murmurs to Draco, with a pointed look to where a first-year Slytherin is shivering, despite the heavy cloak swamping her frame.

“I’ll take left half,” Draco says. “Three, two, one.”  A wave of magic sweeps over the Slytherins, who first are wary, then glance at Draco and Lily, and when they nod, relax into the new heat.

Then—

“There’s noise,” Lily mutters. Indeed, there’s a loud and oddly eerie noise drifting towards them out of the darkness, a sort of muffled rumbling and sucking around.

“The lake?” Draco asks, silvery eyes turning towards the body of water.

Suddenly, the surface of the water is not smoothly black—there’s a disturbance in the centre, great bubbles forming on the surface, waves washing over muddy banks—and then, out of the middle of the lake, a whirlpool appears.

“A ship,” Lily says, “of course. Durmstrang had to do that.”

They watch as a long, black pole begins to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool, then the rigging, and then the rest of the ship, gleaming in the moonlight, strangely skeletal. Dim, misty lights shimmer at its portholes. Finally, with great sloshing, the ship fully emerges, bobbing on the now-turbulent water, and it glides toward the bank. A few moments later, there’s the splash of a dropped anchor and the thud of a plank lowered onto the bank.  People disembark, built a bit like Vincent and Gregory, but as they draw nearer they see that the majority of that bulk is from the shaggy cloaks they wear.

Karkaroff, leading them, wears sleek, silver furs, a bit like his hair.  “Dumbledore!” he calls heartily as he walks up the slope. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?”

“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replies.

Karkaroff, when he steps into the light, is tall and thin like Dumbledore, and his white hair is short and his goatee, finishing in a small curl, only half-hides his weak chin. Reaching Dumbledore, he shakes his hand with both of his own.  “Dear old Hogwarts,” he says, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth are rather yellow, and his eyes remain cold and shrewd. “How good it is to be here, how good…. Viktor, come along, into the warmth… you don’t mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold….”

Karkaroff beckons forward one of his students.

“Viktor Krum?” Draco whispers. Some of the Slytherin first-years don’t quite have a handle on concealing their shock anymore.

“It looks like,” Lily murmurs. “Do you think he’d teach me the Wronski Feint because it’s still not working on you.”

Draco rolls his eyes. “You just want to see me injured, don’t you?”

By then, the Durmstrang students have all entered the Great Hall. Slowly the rest of the Hogwarts population follows, Lily and Draco carefully herding the straggling first-years back inside.  The few—ten or so—Beauxbaton students are sitting at the Ravenclaw table. However, even after everyone else has sat, the Durmstrang students stand, looking torn.

“Poor them,” Lily murmurs and has everyone move a little so that the empty seats are obvious to the Durmstrang students, of whom there are only ten, too. “Krum does seem like the introverted type.”

The Durmstrang students almost leap to the opportunity of sitting without having to split up. They settle around the Slytherin table, Draco and Lily quickly facilitating introductions and then conversation.

Conversation comes easily, anyhow; they glance up at the charmed ceiling and then the golden plates on the table, and that’s enough to start with a conversation about Hogwarts, and then questions about Durmstrang.

Up at the teacher’s table, Filch is adding four chairs, two on either side of Dumbledore’s. He’s wearing an old tailcoat for the occasion.

“We’ll be having five judges,” Theo says, glancing up at the four new chairs. “I wonder who?”

“Crouch, for certain,” Draco says. “Perhaps Bagman? He  _ is _ the other Head of the Department involved.”

The Durmstrang students look curious at the names. Pansy goes to explain the names and the Ministry, a fascinatingly bureaucratic system of too many Departments for Lily to name off quickly.

When all the students enter the Hall and settle down at their House tables, the staff enters, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line are the three Heads of the schools. When the headmistress appears, the pupils from Beauxbatons leap to their feet.  A single Slytherin laughs, instantly quelled when Blaise turns a raised eyebrow on the second-year.  The pupils look quite unembarrassed, however, and remain standing until Madame Maxime sits on Dumbledore’s left-hand side. Dumbledore remains standing and a silence falls over the Great Hall.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and—most particularly—guests,” Dumbledore says, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”  There’s something that sounds like a derisive laugh from a Beauxbatons girl which Draco and Lily probably only hear because they are, unfortunately, Veela by inheritance and thus have enhanced hearing.

“I don’t blame her,” Lily murmurs to Draco, who holds back a laugh.

“The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” says Dumbledore. “I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!”  He sits down and the plates in front of them fill with food as usual. Lily knows the house-elves have pulled out all the stops, with dishes from across the world. 

The Durmstrang students shed their cloaks, revealing robes of deep bloodred, before they begin eating. Then, Lily reaches immediately for the bouillabaisse. If the house-elves are making French food, Lily will eat it.  One of the boys, however, tells her to try the tarator soup, so Lily adds that into a separate bowl, too. 

When the desserts replace the main courses, Lily takes the baklava with hidden glee. She thinks she might love having visitors at Hogwarts. Maybe she’ll even talk to the elves about keeping those dishes in the menu every once in a while.  It’s at this time that Bagman and Mr Crouch appear and sit in their empty seats, Bagman snagging a slice of pie right as the desserts disappear.  Dumbledore stands up again, and it brings a thrill of excitement through the Hall.

“The moment has come,” he says, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces, “the Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation”—there’s a smattering of applause—“and Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

Bagman gets a lot more applause.

“Mr Bagman and Mr Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore continues, “and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions’ efforts.”

The attention in the Great Hall sharpens and the students stop fidgeting. Professor Dumbledore smiles and says, “The casket then, if you please, Mr Filch.”  Filch, who previously lurked unnoticed in the far corner of the Hall, now approaches Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest, extremely old, encrusted with jewels. The interest spikes again.

“The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman,” says Dumbledore as Filch places the chest carefully on the table before him, “and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways… their magical prowess—their daring—their powers of deduction—and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.”  Dumbledore smiles in the absolute silence before he continues. “As you know, three champions compete in the tournament. One from each of the participating schools will be marked on how well they perform each of the tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire.”

Now, he takes out his wand and taps three times on the top of the casket. The lid slowly creaks open and he reaches inside it to pull out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup, entirely unremarkable but for being full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames.  Dumbledore closes the casket and places the goblet carefully on top of it, clearly visible to the entire Hall.

“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet,” says Dumbledore. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.  To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation,” says Dumbledore, “I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.  Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all.” Dumbledore’s eyes are piercing.

Lily briefly wonders if she should be careful—if, perhaps, she should stand by the goblet and make sure no one goes into the Age Line with her name written on a paper, but she dismisses the thought. Surely, Dumbledore’s thought of that option and included it in his Age Line, and even then, Lily has her Samhain meeting with her parents, which does only come about once a year.


	8. Samhain Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Per usual, Samhain night at Hogwarts is when something bad happens.

Lily spends her Saturday in the Slytherin common room, in her normal corner with the other five Slytherins.  Mostly, they’re playing chess and talking; Lily alternates between that and talking to the Slytherins who approach her. One second-year approaches and asks if she wants to participate in the Triwizard Tournament.  Lily shakes her head and laughs. “That’s much too stressful. I do hope one of our House gets it, but if not, Cedric Diggory.”

“ _ Hufflepuff _ ?”

Lily raises an eyebrow. “Isn’t your Hufflepuff friend Darrel Turner beating you in Transfiguration?” She lets a light smile grace her lips to soften the blow before she turns back to playing against Theo, who has the unfortunate advantage of almost always winning.

Some of them leave and come back, and then others leave and come back; they continue to bring news of who’s signed up for the Cup.

“All the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons lot have put in their names by now,” Pansy says when she returns with Daphne, who’s dragging her younger sister, Astoria, with her.

“So have Warrington, Johnson, and Diggory,” Daphne says. “The Weasley twins took Aging potion and tried it, but they got spat out with beards. They’re in the Hospital Wing, getting them removed now.”

Lily laughs. “That does sound like them.” She moves her rook forward, hoping that Theo takes it so that he opens himself up for a series of moves leading to checkmate.

“I’ve seen you do that too many times to Pansy to fall for that,” Theo says drily and ignores her rook.  Lily pulls together a small pool of water and flicks it at Theo in annoyance.  “You can’t use your Elemental powers to try and get me to capitulate."

“I can try. Did anyone else put their names in?” Lily asks.

“Yes, but I doubt any of them will get picked,” Daphne says.

“And we don’t know their names,” Pansy supplies. “Theo, she’s going to take your bishop if you don’t move it away.”   


Lily glares at Pansy. “No helping him! He’s already got an advantage!”  Theo sticks his tongue out, childishly, and moves his bishop back a space, out of reach.

Draco comes into the common room next. “Are you up for a game of cards?” he says, holding a self-shuffling deck. “ _ Not _ Exploding Snap.”

“Don’t want to burn off your eyebrows like Weasley, do you?” Blaise jibes.

Draco rolls his eyes. “Of course not."

Lily sets aside the chess game, all too ready to move on. “Let’s. After, maybe I’ll get some reading done.”

* * *

When the sun sets, Lily bids farewell to the other five Slytherins.

“We’ll tell you who got in tomorrow,” Blaise promises as they exit the common room for the Great Hall. Lily nods and waves before she goes to her room, falling into the familiar ritual—first, purifying the room with blood, which is the most annoying part, and then the lighting of candles, and then the frankly, very ominous chanting.

An hour later, her parents appear, in full ghostly form.

_ “Genesis! You’re back at Hogwarts! How’s your year been?”  _ her mother asks immediately, giving her the ghostly equivalent of a hug.

_ “Genesis,” _ her father greets, smiling from behind her mother.

_ “Yeah, I’m back at Hogwarts. So far, the Dark Lord’s possessed a baby and an escaped Pettigrew has been feeding him his pet snake’s milk, according to a dream. And he’s killed a Muggle and a Ministry member, Bertha Jorkins, who everyone is assuming is just lost. Oh, we’ve got a new Defence professor because Moony found a job with the goblins. It’s Mad-Eye Moody.” _

_ “Oh, Moody! A dear friend,” _ her father says.

_ “He’s been Imperiusing all of us in Defence classes. Also showed the Cruciatus and Killing Curse on spiders,”  _ Lily says.  _ “He’s always staring at me oddly. I’m kind of suspicious because the Dark Lord has an intelligent, faithful servant at Hogwarts, and he knows that I’m the lost Potter twin because Pettigrew gave it away, which means the servant knows too. Oh. Did I mention? The Triwizard Tournament is happening this year. The Goblet of Fire should be announcing the competitors right now.” _

_ “You should be careful, dear,”  _ her mother says.  _ “Have you told Padfoot? Your godfather? The Malfoys? _ ”

_ “I’ve told them, yes,” _ Lily says.  _ “And I haven’t been going anywhere alone, except for now _ .”

_ “All right _ ,” her father says.  _ “Remember, make use of the adults. Not Dumbledore, but the adults.” _

_ “Mhm. Lloyd and I are getting along better. The Slytherins and Gryffindors have stopped fighting so ardently,”  _ Lily says.  _ “I think it’s because the Gryffindors had to go through Pansy and the rest of them to say hello to me when I was abroad last year.” _

Their chuckles are light, not fully there, but Lily appreciates it nonetheless.

They continue talking; her mother tells her more stories of Uncle Severus and herself at Hogwarts, and tells her about her Aunt Petunia, while her father regales her with tales of the Marauders and their famous pranks, from turning everyone’s hair blue to the time they set off Dungbombs in every classroom at the same time.

_ “Don’t follow his example, Genesis,” _ her mother says.  _ “Filch was furious _ .”

_ “Professor McGonagall laughed,” _ her father points out.  _ “Ask Padfoot about the time he called Professor McGonagall ‘mother’, by the way.” _

_ “You really won’t give him a break, will you,”  _ her mother says, evidently amused.

In turn, Lily tells them about the Weasley twins, playing Wizarding chess with her friends, the Quidditch World Cup this year—she, very carefully, only briefly mentions the aftermath of it—and talks about how Padfoot’s doing with politics. She mentions their last get-together, where the Malfoys, Moony, Padfoot, and Uncle Severus were remarkably civil, and tells them about Pansy, who purposefully warbles off-key to Celestina Warbeck. Hermione comes up briefly—she tells them about Hermione’s interest in house-elves and liberation, and then of the younger years she’s helped, and then finally describes the two schools who are visiting.

_ “And how’s your control on allure going?” _ her father finally asks, a very real worry in his eyes.  _ “I hope you aren’t just dating anyone! If you are, you need to check with the Malfoys, all right? I’m sure they have high enough standards—” _

_ “James, _ ” her mother says.

Lily laughs, clear and bright.  _ “My control of allure is much better now. You’ve seen my wings, but Draco and I have been training flying in the Come-and-Go Room,” _ she says.  _ “And no, Dad, I’m not dating anyone. I’m going to the Yule Ball with Draco, anyway, so you don’t need to worry.” _

Her father grumbles.  _ “Maybe I should meet Draco, with how much time you spend around him—” _

_ “James!”  _ He only looks half-sheepish when Lily’s mother swats his arm.

_ “Someone’s at your door,” _ her father suddenly says, graveness stealing over his features.

Her mother, too, becomes more serious.  _ “We’ll see you next year, Prongslet. You should clean up and answer the door, they feel very urgent. We love you,” _ she says, and then both are gone.

Lily stands there, the only sign of her shock an unordinary stillness and a slight furrow in her brow. It’s only been an hour and a half since dinner started. Then she shakes herself out of it.  It’s not like interruptions are infrequent; interruptions are almost as much tradition as it is tradition to talk to her parents yearly, at this point. In second year, it’d been the basilisk which was an interruption, so Lily figures that as long as its human, it’s a better situation.  Quickly, she casts a  _ Scourgify _ on herself and the room before she goes to the door, from where there’s sharp rapping.

* * *

In the Great Hall, people pay much less attention to the extravagant food and fluttering bats than normal. They eat, small amounts here and there, but the impatience for the plates to clear and for the champions to be selected is evident.

At long last, the golden plates return to their original spotless state; there’s a sharp upswing in the level of noise, which dies away almost instantly as Dumbledore gets to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime look as tense and expectant as the students, while Ludo Bagman beams and winks at various students. Mr Crouch, however, looks quite uninterested, almost bored.

“Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” says Dumbledore. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them to please come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber”—he indicates the door behind the staff table—“where they will be receiving their first instructions.”

He takes out his wand and gives a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except for those inside the carved pumpkins are extinguished, plunging the Hall into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire shines more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, blue-white of the flames almost blinding. Nevertheless, everyone watches, waiting… a few people keep checking their watches, whispering times…

The flames inside the goblet suddenly switch red. Sparks begin to fly from it. The next moment, a tongue of flame shoots into the air, a charred piece of parchment flutters out of it—the whole room gasps.  Dumbledore easily catches the piece of parchment and holds it at arm’s length to read by the light of flames, blue-white again.

“The champion for Durmstrang,” he reads, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.”

The Hall, unsurprised by the choice, erupts in cheers as Viktor Krum rises from the Slytherin table and slouches up toward Dumbledore; he turns right, walks along the staff table, and disappears through the door into the next chamber.

“Bravo, Viktor!” Karkaroff booms over all the applause. “Knew you had it in you!” 

The clapping and chatting die down again, attention focused on the goblet. Seconds later, it turns red again, propelling the second piece of parchment out.

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” says Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!”

A girl resembling a veela gets gracefully to her feet, shakes back her sheet of silvery-blonde hair, and sweeps up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Some of the Beauxbatons students have dissolved into tears, but otherwise, the crowd is cheering her on.  When she vanishes into the side chamber, the tensest silence falls as they wait for the Hogwarts champion.

And the Goblet of Fire turns red once more; sparks shower out of it; the tongue of flame shoots high into the air, and from its tip, Dumbledore pulls the third piece of parchment.

“The Hogwarts champion,” he calls, “is Cedric Diggory!”   


The Hufflepuff uproar merges with the Slytherins as Cedric Diggory rises, grinning broadly, and head off towards the chamber behind the teachers’ table. Indeed, the applause goes on so long that it’s some time before Dumbledore can be heard again.

“Excellent!” he calls happily as the last of the tumult finally dies down. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real—”

Dumbledore suddenly stops speaking.  The goblet’s fire has turned red again. Sparks fly out of it. A long flame shoots suddenly in the air, bearing another piece of parchment.  Automatically, it seems, Dumbledore reaches out a long hand and seizes the parchment. He holds it out and stares at the name written on it. There’s a long pause, where Dumbledore stares at the slip in his hands and everyone in the room stares at Dumbledore.  Then Dumbledore clears his throat.

_ “Lily Smythin _ .”

Everyone falls silent. They all search for the girl’s normally-noticeable presence at the Slytherin table, but they’re only able to find her five companions, who are whispering to one another, expressions of concern written across their faces.  Professor Snape has turned white.

At the top table, Professor Dumbledore finally straightens and nods to Professor McGonagall. “Lily Smythin!” he calls again. “Miss Smythin! Up here, if you please!”

Blaise Zabini stands. “Headmaster, Lily’s in her room. She always takes Samhain night to reach her parents through the veil.” His voice, quiet, projects through the silence. “She hasn’t left her the Slytherin dungeons since the feast yesterday, we’ll all vouch for her.”

“Professor Snape, could you find her?” the Headmaster says. Silently, the Potions master stands and leaves the Hall.

* * *

She opens the door. Professor Snape is there.  “Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?” he asks immediately.

Lily takes one look at him before she steps out of her room and falls in step with him as he walks out of the Slytherin common room. “What  _ happened _ ?” she asks.

“Your name was pulled,” he says, face grave.

“Was it my  _ handwriting _ ?” Lily asks.

“I did not see.”

They’re walking awfully quickly. Hogwarts is actively pressing magic on her, evidently trying to comfort her, while also moving the floor tiles to help her speed up, but the magic of the castle is swirling and _angry_.

“I never left the Slytherin dorms.”

“I know. They do not.”

“Why would I  _ want _ to risk my life?!” Lily exclaims. Then she sighs, not slowing her pace. “But yes, I realize. Is there a way I can simply not attend?”

Professor Snape pins her with a  _ look _ .  Lily sighs again and they enter the Great Hall.  Immediately it falls silent.

“Through the door, Miss Smythin,” says Dumbledore. He’s not smiling. He gestures towards the door behind the faculty table.

Lily pauses in front of the Headmaster. “May I see the paper?” He hands it to her. Lily studies the scorched slip of paper. “It’s not my handwriting,” she says.

“Go through the door,” he says again. Lily stares at him head-on, mental defences pulled up, before she relents and goes through the door.

She finds herself in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A handsome fire roars in the fireplace opposite her. In front of the fire are the three champions, silhouetted against the flames: Krum, hunched-up and brooding, leaning against the mantelpiece and distanced from the other two; Cedric, standing hands behind his back, staring into the fire; Delacour, who meets her eyes when she walks in and throws back her sheet of long, silvery hair.  “What is it?” she says. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?”

Lily thinks it’s fair to assume that she’s come to deliver a message.

“Unfortunately, no,” she says, feigning casual confidence she doesn’t feel. “Someone, for kicks and giggles, I suppose, thought to throw my name in the Goblet, and now we’re sorting it out like there’s something to sort out.”

Cedric stares at her. “What?” Krum’s face has darkened; Fleur Delacour has a small frown tugging down her lips.

“I mean I should have listened to my instincts and enrolled in that Japanese school of magic, away from all of  _ this _ ,” Lily says, her eyes glowing bright green.

There’s the sound of scurrying feet and Ludo Bagman enters the room. He takes her by the arm and leads her forward.  “Extraordinary!” he mutters. “Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen… lady, may I introduce—incredible though it may seem—the  _ fourth _ Triwizard champion?”

Krum straightens, his eyebrows contracting slightly. Cedric still looks politely bewildered. Delacour’s frown deepens.  “But evidently zair ‘as been a mistake,” she says contemptuously to Bagman. “Zis girl cannot compete. She is too young.”

“ _ Exactly _ ,” Lily says. “I can’t compete, so why am I here?” She’s still glaring, all of her features sharp, taking in too much light.

“Well… it is amazing,” Bagman says, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at Lily, who looks ready to murder. “But as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as her name’s come out of the goblet… I mean, I don’t think there can be any ducking out at this stage… It’s down in the rules, you’re obliged…. Lily will just have to do the best she—”

The door behind them opens again and a large group of people comes in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Snape. Outside, the Great Hall is buzzing.

“Madame Maxime!” says Delacour at once, striding over to her headmistress. “Zey are saying zat zis little girl is to compete also!”

Madame Maxime draws herself up to her full, considerable height. The top of her head brushes the candle-filled chandelier.  “What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” she says imperiously.

“I’d rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,” says Karkaroff, wearing a steely smile, eyes like chips of ice. “ _ Two _ Hogwarts champions? I don’t remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed two champions—or have I not read the rules carefully enough?”  He gives a short and nasty laugh.

“He’s right, there’s only one champion per school, meaning  _ I shouldn’t be competing _ ,” Lily says, her icy fury blanketing the room.

“ _ C’est impossible _ ,” says Madame Maxime, her hand resting upon Delacour’s shoulder. “‘Ogwarts cannot ‘ave two champions. It is most injust.”

“We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore,” says Karkaroff, his eyes colder than ever. It still doesn’t rival Lily’s angrily glowing green eyes. “Otherwise we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our schools.”

“I was in the Slytherin dorms the entire day. All of Slytherin will vouch for me. And I _ don’t want to compete _ ,” Lily says, each word cold. “I want to know  _ who entered my name _ and I want them  _ out of the castle _ and I want myself  _ out of the competition _ .”

Karkaroff turns. “Mr Crouch… Mr Bagman,” he says, his voice unctuous, “you are our—er—objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular? And the girl does not want to compete, did not enter her name… she said so herself.”

Bagman wipes his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looks at Mr Crouch, who stands outside the circle of the firelight, his face half-hidden in shadow. He looks slightly eerie. Lily notices his health has declined a frightening amount.  His voice, however, is curt as always. “We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the tournament.”

“Well, Barty knows the rule book back to front,” says Bagman, beaming and turning to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime and Lily, as if the matter’s now closed.

Lily contemplates the result of writing to every politician she knows to get Bagman and Crouch sacked. She knows Padfoot and Mr Malfoy will be furious, which will be enough to get Fudge to sack  _ some _ people.

“I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students,” says Karkaroff. He drops his unctuous tone and smile now. “You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has two champions. It’s only fair, Dumbledore.”

“But Karkaroff, it doesn’t work like that,” says Bagman. “The Goblet of Fire’s just gone out—it won’t reignite until the start of the next tournament—”

“—in which Durmstrang will certainly not be competing!” he explodes. “After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!”

“Empty threat, Karkaroff,” growls a voice from near the door. Lily’s eyes, if possible, glow more, her face becoming an elegant, odd,  _ dangerous _ mix of sharp angles as she looks at the more-and-more suspicious Defence professor. “You can’t leave your champion now. He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?”  He limps towards the fire. Every right step he takes has a loud  _ clunk _ .

“Convenient? I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Moody,” he says disdainfully, although his hands are balled into fists.

“Don’t you? It’s very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put Smythin’s name in that goblet knowing she’d have to compete if it came out.”

“Evidently, someone ‘oo wished to give ‘Ogwarts two bites at ze apple!” says Madame Maxime.

“I quite agree, Madame Maxime,” says Karkaroff, bowing slightly to her. “I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic  _ and _ the International Confederation of Wizards—”

“If anyone’s got a reason to complain, it’s Smythin,” Moody growls, “but… funny thing… I don’t hear  _ her _ saying a word.”

“Why should she complain?” Delacour bursts out. “She ‘as ze chance to compete! We ‘ave all been ‘oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honour for our schools! A thousand Galleons in prize money—zis is a chance many would die for!”

“ _ I _ wouldn’t,” Lily says, voice cold. “I don’t want the money or the glory.”

Moody ignores her. “Maybe someone’s hoping Smythin  _ is _ going to die for it.” It comes with the merest trace of a growl.

An extremely tense silence follows his words. Ludo Bagman, bouncing nervously up and down, finally says, “Moody, old man… what a thing to say!”

“We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn’t discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,” says Karkaroff loudly. “Apparently, he is now teaching his students to fear assassination, too. An odd quality in a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons.”

“Imagining things, am I?” growls Moody. “Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put the girl’s name in that goblet…”

“Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?” says Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands. Lily is still fuming silently, arm no longer caught in Bagman’s grip but otherwise not in a better situation.

“Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object! It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the tournament…. I’m guessing they submitted Smythin’s name under a fourth school, to make sure she was the only one in her category….”

“You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody,” says Karkaroff coldly, and that’s what sets Lily on edge—because she realizes Karkaroff is  _ right _ . She resolves to check her Marauder’s Map after she gets out of here if only to try and find Mad-Eye Moody on the map or any intruders. Her eyes flick to where she knows his hip flask is. 

“And a very ingenious theory it is—” he continues, “though of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg and smashed it to pieces before realizing it was a carriage clock. So you’ll understand if we don’t take you entirely seriously….”

“There are those who’ll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,” he retorts menacingly. “It’s my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff—as you ought to remember….”

“Alastor!” Dumbledore says warningly. Moody falls silent, although he eyes Karkaroff with satisfaction.

“How this situation arose, we do not know,” says Dumbledore, speaking to everyone in the room. “It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Cedric and Lily have been chosen to compete in the tournament. This, therefore, they will do….”

“Ah, but Dumbly-dorr—”

“My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it.”

“Why can’t I simply not compete?” Lily asks, eyes flashing. She looks unnatural, drawing in so much of the light around her. 

“You’re bound by a magical contract,” Moody growls.

“Then  _ break it _ ,” Lily says. “Surely someone here can do that.”

No one looks her in the eye.

“I’m afraid, Lily dear, that you’ll have to compete,” Professor Dumbledore says.

Madame Maxime is glaring. Uncle Severus looks furious, Karkaroff livid, McGonagall concerned. Bagman, however, looks rather excited. Lily wants, a bit, to hex him.

“Well, shall we crack on then?” he says, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. “Got to give our champions their instructions, haven’t we? Barty, want to do the honours?”

Mr Crouch seems to come out of a deep reverie. Lily notes him, a little suspicious.  “Yes,” he says, “instructions. Yes… the first task… the first task is designed to test your daring,” he tells the four competitors, “so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard… very important….  The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges.  The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the tournaments, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.”

Lily thinks she prefers the end of year exams.

Mr Crouch turns to look at Dumbledore. “I think that’s all, is it, Albus?”

“I think so,” says Dumbledore, who’s looking at Mr Crouch with mild concern, no doubt nothing his ill health. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?”

“No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,” says Mr Crouch. “It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment…. I’ve left young Weatherby in charge…. Very enthusiastic… a little overenthusiastic, if truth be told….”

“You’ll come and have a drink before you go, at least?” says Dumbledore.

“Come on, Barty, I’m staying!” Bagman says brightly. “It’s all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!”

“I think not, Ludo,” says Crouch with a touch of his old impatience.

Lily leaves, a visible swirl of magic following her. For a brief second, everyone gazes after her in surprise.


	9. A Forced Kind of Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is aftermath which Lily deals with, along with discovery and another run-in with Moody.

It becomes very clear, over the next few days, that Lily simply will not talk about the Triwizard Tournament.  When she enters the Slytherin dorms after the Halloween feast, she enters in silence, visible magic still whipping around her, eyes glowing, features sharpened. Everyone falls quiet immediately and clears a way for her—the first-years this year, too, have heard about her duel with three fifth-years when  _ she _ was only a first-year. 

The other five Slytherins approach her—Draco does so with absolutely no hesitation. He wraps an arm around her and they walk to their corner of the Common Room, where Daphne throws up Silence wards and they begin whispering to each other, huddled despite no-one being able to hear them through the ward. She’s only there for a few minutes before she goes to her room.

In her room, Lily pulls out the Marauder’s Map—she finds the name Alastor Moody in his office, simply standing still. Lily closes her eyes and sighs, one of disappointment, and then closes the map and puts it back in the mokeskin pouch. She still can’t tell who put her name in the Goblet. Nonetheless, she takes a few deep breaths and then writes a letter to Padfoot, who will no doubt show it to Moony, and a letter to the Malfoys about the Triwizard fiasco.

The next day, some people don’t believe the fact that she doesn’t want to compete until she tells them, voice cold as ice, eyes glowing, that  _ the handwriting wasn’t even hers _ . Then, she doesn’t speak about the Tournament at all, continuing with her classes as normal, and when someone tries to bring it up, she not-so-subtly steers the conversation away.

They stop trying.

In one of their Care classes, Hagrid reveals that the Skrewts have started fighting with each other—grown to three feet, now, they’ve developed a thick, greyish, shiny armour—and there are only twenty left. However, he puts it to pent-up energy. Lily puts it to territorial instinct, like beta fish. Nevertheless, they are forced to walk the Skrewts. Lily casts an Imperius on it and has it obediently walk behind her, no weird explosions or attempts to run away. Everywhere else, her classmates are struggling.  That Japanese magical school has never looked so appealing.

Lily’s popularity, she knows, is taking a hit from her being champion, too; it’s not significant, but it’s there nonetheless. She ignores it and goes through her classes, sticking to her schedule like a forced kind of normalcy. She’s gotten owls from Padfoot, Moony, and the Malfoys now, all of them telling her that the first event will likely be something animal-related, and to simply brush up on XXXXX animals.  She does; Lily doesn’t want to  _ die _ , after all. Still, it’s the bare minimum.

Finally, she gets to Potions, she and Draco quietly gleeful at their brilliance as they both have plans to take a bezoar. Of course, the one class she’s looking forward to is ruined by the Triwizard Tournament—the Gryffindor Colin Creevey edges into the dungeon at the beginning of the class.

“Yes?” he asks curtly.

“Please, sir, I’m supposed to take Lily Smythin upstairs.”

Professor Snape sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Lily, come back later to do your antidote. Go.”  Silently, she nods and picks her stuff up. She’s getting all manner of sympathetic looks, even from Ronald Weasley.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it, Lily?” says Colin, starting to speak the moment she closes the dungeon door. “Isn’t it, though? You being champion?”

Lily hums. “What are they doing?”

“Photos for the  _ Daily Prophet _ , I think!”

Lily conceals a groan.

“Good luck!” says Colin when they reach the right room. Lily walks into the small classroom. Most of the desks have been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three, however, have been placed end-to-end in front of the blackboard and covered with a long length of velvet. Five chairs are set up behind the desks. Ludo Bagman sits in one of them, talking to Rita Skeeter, in magenta robes.  Krum stands moodily in a corner, as usual, not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur are in conversation; Fleur looks a good deal happier, Lily notes, and she keeps throwing back her head so that her long silver hair catches the light. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera which slightly smokes, is watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman spots Lily and gets up quickly, bounding forward.  “Ah, here she is! Champion number four! In you come, Lily, in you come… nothing to worry about, it’s just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment—”

Lily recalls that the ceremony  _ is _ a thing, just to make sure that all wands are functional.

“The expert’s upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there’s going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter,” he adds, gesturing towards her. “She’s doing a small piece on the tournament for the  _ Daily Prophet _ ….”

“We’ve met,” Lily says and smiles at the reporter, her hair set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrast oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wears jewelled spectacles and clutches a crocodile-skin handbag with thick fingers ending in two-inch crimson nails.

“I wonder if I could have a little word with Lily before we start?” she says to Bagman, still gazed fixedly at her. “The youngest champion, you know… to add a bit of colour?”

“Certainly!” cries Bagman. “That is—if Lily has no objection?”

“As long as you aren’t using your Quick-Quotes Quill, I see no problem,” Lily says, lips curling slightly.  Rita Skeeter looks vaguely disappointed but nevertheless clutches her arm and steers him to a nearby door.

“We don’t want to be in there with all that noise,” she says. “Let’s see… ah, yes, this is nice and cosy.”  It’s a broom cupboard. Lily tilts her head in question.  “Come along, dear—that’s right—lovely,” says Rita Skeeter, perching precariously upon an upturned bucket, pushing Lily down onto a cardboard box and closing the door, plunging them into darkness.

“Let’s see now…” She takes out a regular quill. “So, Lily, what made you decide to enter the Triwizard Tournament?”

“I didn’t,” Lily says. “I was in the Slytherin common room all day. Nonetheless, it turns out no one knows how to break the Goblet of Fire’s magical contract, so here I am.”

“Come now, there’s no need to be scared of getting into trouble,” she says, raising a heavily pencilled eyebrow as she scribbles notes down. “Our readers love a rebel.”

“Trust me, if I were to be rebellious, it would not be to put my neck on the line,” Lily says.

“So I expect you’re nervous about the tasks ahead?” says Rita Skeeter.

“Champions older than I am have died in the past,” Lily says. “I would be stupid to feel confident.”

“Of course, you’ve looked death in the face before, haven’t you? In your second year. How would you say that’s affected you?”

“It gave me insomnia,” Lily offers.

“And you’re orphaned, yes? Can you remember your parents at all?”

“I was talking to them Samhain night,” Lily says.

“How do you think they’d feel if they knew you were competing in the Triwizard Tournament? Proud? Worried? Angry?”

“Worried, I suppose. Perhaps they’d be angry with the administration for having security lax enough to allow a person to enter another’s name, especially the name of an underage witch,” Lily says.

The door is pulled open. Albus Dumbledore stands there, looking down at both of them, squashed into the cupboard. Lily has never thought that she’d be particularly grateful to the Headmaster, but now she is.  Abruptly, she stands, smiles, and leaves. “I assume we need to start?” she says as she squeezes through the door.

Quickly, she sits next to Cedric, looking up at the velvet-covered table where four of the five judges are now sitting. Rita Skeeter settles herself in a corner, pulling out a Quick Quotes Quill and placing it on the parchment.

“May I introduce Mr Ollivander?” says Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges’ tables and talking to the champions. Lily conceals a shudder—all too well, she remembers getting her wand from him. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.”  Mr Ollivander’s standing quietly at the window.

“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” he says, stepping into the space in the middle of the room.  Fleur Delacour sweeps over to him and hands him her wand.

“Hmmm…” he says. He twirls the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emits several pink and gold sparks. Then he holds it close to his eyes and examines it carefully.

“Yes,” he says quietly, “nine and a half inches… inflexible… rosewood… and containing… dear me…”

“An ‘air from ze ‘ead of a veela,” says Fleur. “One of my grandmuzzer’s.” Lily supposes that makes sense—she’s part-Veela, like Draco and herself.

“Yes,” says Mr Ollivander, “yes, I’ve never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands… however, to each his own, and if this suits you…”  Mr Ollivander runs his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he mutters, “ _ Orchideous!” _ and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand-tip.  “Very well, very well, it’s in fine working order,” says Mr Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. “Mr Diggory, you next.”  Fleur glides back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passes her.

“Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn’t it?” says Mr Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric hands over his wand. “Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn… must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I picked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches… ash… pleasantly springy. It’s in fine condition…. You treat it regularly?”

“Polished it last night,” says Cedric, grinning. Lily makes a mental note that she needs to polish hers, too; she’s behind schedule and keeps putting it off.

Mr Ollivander sends a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric’s wand, pronounces himself satisfied, and then says, “Mr Krum if you please.”  Viktor Krum stands and slouches, round-shouldered and duck-footed, toward Mr Ollivander. He thrusts out his wand and stands scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.

“Hmm,” says Mr Ollivander, “this is a Gregorovitch creation unless I’m much mistaken? A fine wandmaker, though the styling is never quite what I… however…”

He lifts the wand and examines it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.

“Yes… hornbeam and dragon heartstring?” he shoots at Krum, who nods. “Rather thicker than one usually sees… quite rigid… ten and a quarter inches…  _ Avis! _ ”

The hornbeam wand lets off a blast like a gun and several small, twittering birds fly out of the end and through the open window.

“Good,” says Mr Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. “Which leaves… Miss Smythin.”

Lily gets to her feet and walks past Krum to Ollivander. She hands her wand, grey from the venom of the crushed and reformed basilisk fang, over to him.  “Aaah, yes,” he says, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. Lily knows that he’s made the connection between little Genesis Lily Potter, who entered his store at eleven, and  _ her _ , Heiress Black, Lily Smythin. “Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember.”

Lily remembers it well, too. She spent an  _ hour _ there, trying wand after wand (she grasped one wood, apple, which ended up overturning an entire bookcase) until Ollivander told her to wait and returned with a special wand, crafted by a Lesothian hermit. His eyes had pierced her, then, and they are piercing now.

Mr Ollivander spends much longer examining Lily’s wand than anyone else’s. Then, h e hands it back to her. “Try a complex spell, it won’t perform for anyone but you unless they win against you in a duel.”  Lily figures it’s because of the elder wood in her wand. She nods and makes a fountain of wine shoot out of it. Mr Ollivander proclaims it to be in perfect condition and Lily takes a seat again.

“Thank you all,” says Dumbledore, standing up at the judges’ table. “You may go back to your lessons now—or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end—”

“Photos, Dumbledore, photos!” Bagman cries excitedly. “All the judges and champions, what do you think, Rita?”

“Er—yes, let’s do those first,” says Rita Skeeter, eyes on Lily again. “And then perhaps some individual shots.”

The photographs take a long time. Madame Maxime’s height is a problem; eventually, they have her sit as everyone stands around her. Karkaroff keeps twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl, Krum sulks at the back of the group, and the photographer and Rita fight over whether Lily or Fleur should be at the front. Then, Skeeter insists on separate shots of all the champions, and finally, they’re released.

At dinner, to which Lily is late, she laughs and banters with the other five Slytherins, ignoring the upcoming first challenge. She talks with Krum, too, a little sympathetic—he’s been in the library, reading through books constantly, and Lily’s unsure whether that’s because he’s nervous enough to spend his time there, or if he’s watching Hermione.  Fleur Delacour flounces through the school as always, unworried, which Lily must say she admires. Cedric Diggory is constantly surrounded by people, easily portraying his nervous excitement.

Lily—well, she carries on as normal, and if there are more people around her, then that’s not something she’s concerned about.  Lily privately thinks, though, that the days are passing by too fast. And then it’s the Saturday before the Tuesday evening of the first task.

“Are you coming to Hogsmeade?” Pansy asks.

Lily nods. “Yeah, give me a second, I’m just going to change—”

“It’s not a fashion outing,” Theo groans, only to be quelled by five glares. “Merlin,” he mutters.

Eventually, they make it out to Hogsmeade, where Lily spends most of her time in Honeydukes, Draco buying her chocolates because “if you’re going to die, you might as well die happy”.  They return to the castle late at night, on impulse taking the long way round which follows the edge of the Forbidden Forest. It’s then when they’re about halfway around—that is, Hogwarts and the lake is still out of sight, but will be in sight very soon—they hear deafening, earsplitting roars and the shouts of men.

“ _ Dragons _ ,” Draco mutters.

“It’s the first task,” Pansy says. “You’re up against dragons.”

Blaise claps her back. “Good luck. All you have to do is cast a shield against fire and go for it,” he tells her.

Theo snorts. “I hope they’re serious about having actual safety precautions this year. Imagine if this escapes?”

“Is it even safe to have them so close to the Forest?” Daphne says.

“Probably not,” Lily agrees. “I think that’s Madame Maxime and Karkaroff in the distance, look,” she says, her eyes focused on two silhouettes.

“Definitely Maxime. I don’t know about Karkaroff, though,” Blaise says.

“Who else would it be?” Lily says. “I suppose that makes Cedric the only one who doesn’t know.”

* * *

Of course, Lily wakes up early the next morning (a Sunday morning, the Tuesday event draws ever nearer) and checks her map for Cedric Diggory.  She’s not letting the  _ actual _ Hogwarts champion go into the first event on a disadvantage. 

It’s then that her eyes stray, briefly, to Moody’s office.  Two dots: one, which has not moved since she last saw it.  _ Alastor Moody _ .  The other, pacing back and forth at the front of the office.  _ Barty Crouch Jr. _

Barty Crouch Jr., like Frank and Alice Longbottom, is a non-secret secret among purebloods. Most people have forgotten the entire, harrowing blemished spot on the Crouch’s family. Most people have forgotten that Barty Crouch Sr had every good chance of becoming Minister until his son was arrested for being part of the Death Eaters.

He’s  _ supposed _ to be dead. Dead, buried in Azkaban.

Well, first Pettigrew, and then Barty Crouch Jr. Truly  _ Death Eaters _ , in a sense. Lily doesn’t even know why she’s surprised anymore, but now she knows there’s a supposed dead man is walking in Hogwarts, in Moody’s office, as Moody has lain in the same spot for who-knows-how-long.  In the back of her mind is constantly the  _ faithful, loyal servant _ of the Dark Lord planted in Hogwarts, and that comes to the surface, along with that hip flask Moody always drinks from. The first thing Lily  _ wants _ to do is to orchestrate some great reveal.

However, a great reveal requires her to reveal a good amount of her own deck, something she's unwilling to do when her enemies are both the Light Lord and the Dark Lord. First, how Lily had the map, and then Fred and George Weasley would certainly step in—“she’s Prong’s daughter” and then  _ that  _ secret’s out, isn’t it, especially for Professor McGonagall and the Headmaster, and that’s mainly what she’s trying to avoid. Then, if that’s avoided, Lily would run the risk of Barty Crouch Jr being given Veritaserum and then spilling that same secret. And it’s certainly hard to do anything like murder except for a straight  _ Avada Kedavra _ because of his magical eye, and even the Killing Curse would be difficult, especially the attention it would attract as he’s currently pretending to be the Defence professor and Lily doesn’t know where the  _ real _ Moody is hidden—but Lily would bet her life that it’s protected by a password she doesn’t know.  Moody’s certainly not lying around  _ unprotected _ , after all. No, that would run too many risks, and if Barty Crouch Jr could overtake Moody (Lily suddenly remembers the story of the dustbins,  _ that must be what that was all about _ ) then he’s certainly not stupid enough to leave the real Moody out in the open.

So Lily can’t unearth or murder Moody just yet—she’ll have to lie in wait until the right opportunity arises, when she has the power and can extract the information on the real Moody’s whereabouts from him through a good Legilimens. It’s a risky bet to place, but Lily doesn’t think she has many choices.  Lily wonders, briefly, when Moody’s going to try and kidnap her. Really, the sooner the better. But until then, she’s already set on not revealing anything to anyone—her discovery, she decides, will stay a secret, and Lily’s been cloaked with secrets before. This is barely  _ anything _ to hide from the Malfoys, Padfoot and Moony, and Uncle Severus.

She sets a magical timer for ten minutes, wards her room, closes her eyes, and lets the magic whip around her, frenzied. Her wings fly out, feathers sharpened to something like metal.

Then, the timer beeps. She regains her self control and locates Cedric on the map, entering the Great Hall for Hogwarts. Barty Crouch Jr is in the Great Hall, too. She leans into the wall of her dorm and walks straight through it into the entrance.

“Cedric,” she calls. She’s well aware of Moody eyeing her from his seat at the table. “Do you have a moment?”  He’s surrounded by his new fan club, even now.

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?” he says, jogging over.

“The first task,” Lily says, lowering her voice to a murmur. “Dragons. I was walking back from Hogsmeade the long way when I saw them. Madame Maxime and Karkaroff saw them too, and I wasn’t about to leave the  _ actual _ Hogwarts champion without equal footing.”

Cedric stares, the slightest panic flickering through his grey eyes. “Are you sure?” he says in a hushed voice.

“Dead sure. Four of them, one for each of us,” Lily says. “I’m sure you think of a way. I hope you do, at least.” 

Then, she skips off, only to be halted once she gets halfway across the entrance.  “Come with me, Smythin,” Mad-Eye growls. Lily conceals her apprehension.

“Certainly,” she says. “Your office?”

He nods. She follows him, silently, for a good few minutes until they reach his office. He holds the door open for her.  Moody closes the door and turns to look at her, both eyes fixed on her. Lily keeps up all her mental defences.  “That was a very decent thing you just did, Smythin,” Moody says quietly.

Lily feigns ignorance. “Decent things? Sorry, I don’t think that’s in my vocabulary as a Slytherin,” she says. The corner of his lip twitches upwards.

“Sit down,” he says. Lily sits, glancing around at the number of exceptionally odd objects. There are a good number of Sneakoscopes, a Foe Glass, and a vibrating Secrecy Sensor.  “Like my Dark Detectors, do you?” says Moody, who’s watching her closely.

Lily wonders how he’ll explain the vibrating Secrecy Sensor. She points at the squiggly golden aerial. “What’s that?” she asks.

“Secrecy Sensor. Vibrates when it detects concealment and lies… no use here, of course, too much interference—students in every direction lying about why they haven’t done their homework. Been humming ever since I got here. I had to disable my Sneakoscope because it wouldn’t stop whistling. It’s extra-sensitive, picks up stuff about a mile around. Of course, it could be picking up more than kid stuff,” he adds in a growl. “And that’s my Foe-Glass. See them out there, skulking around? I’m not really in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes. That’s when I open my trunk.”

He lets out a short, harsh laugh, and points to the large trunk under the window with seven keyholes.  It’s a compartmented trunk, Lily realizes. Her second realization is that that trunk is  _ exactly where Alastor Moody’s dot has been _ . She was right—it’d be a password only Moody and Barty Crouch Jr know. Lily briefly notes that Barty Crouch Jr plays this game  _ excellently _ . Without the map, and if he’d taken any position but the DADA position, Lily might’ve believed him.  She shields her thoughts more.

“So… found out about the dragons, have you?”

“Not on purpose,” Lily says. “I did expect it to be some sort of creature battle, though.”

“It’s all right,” Moody says, sitting down and stretching out his wooden leg with a groan. “Cheating’s a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been.”

Lily laughs. “Are you certain, Professor, that you were sorted into Gryffindor?”

“Time changes all sorts of things about a person, Smythin,” fake-Moody says. “So… got any ideas about how you’re going to get past your dragon yet?”

“I’m planning to step out and see how it goes,” Lily says, rather cheerfully. “I mean, like you said, maybe someone’s hoping that I’ll die for this. And if I die in the first task, well, that’s a lot of  _ my _ problems taken care of.”

(Mainly, it means the Dark Lord can’t use her, and also that the Horcrux in her dies, too.)  Moody conceals his horror rather well. Lily hides a smirk. So this fake-Moody  _ wants _ her to survive, probably until the end, because Lily’s sure the Dark Lord is a bit dramatic like that.

“Well, I’m just going to give you some good, general advice. And the first bit is— _play_ _to your strengths.”_

“And if I haven’t got any?” Lily says, a small smile curving her lips. “There are things a fourth-year doesn’t know that a sixth or seventh-year does, you know.”

“Excuse me,” he growls. “You’ve got strengths if I say you’ve got them. Think now. What are you best at?”   


“Being an Occlumens?” Lily tries. “I kicked Dumbledore out of my mind in first-year, funny story.” She inclines her head slightly as she kicks Moody out of her mind. “I have since avoided eye contact with him.”

Moody lets out a surprised laugh. “Then I’ll give you that. What other strengths, then?” He glances, significantly, out to the Quidditch pitch.

“You want me to use a  _ broom _ and fly around a dragon?” Lily says, following his gaze. “I’ll do it, but if I get killed, that’s no one’s fault but your own.”

Moody laughs. It’s harsh and grating. Lily would bet almost anything that Barty Crouch Jr.’s laugh would be a bit more charming, a little more musical. He reminds her strangely of Tom Marvolo Riddle.  Lily supposes you get those repetitions of characters as long as orphans are growing up in harsh conditions—or people who might as well be orphans, growing up in harsh conditions.

“You won’t,” he says.

“You give me too much credit, Professor,” Lily says. “Technical knowledge is vastly different from practical knowledge.”


	10. The First Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily vs a dragon: will she last ten minutes?

Tuesday morning is one of great tension and excitement. Only morning lessons will be taking place, giving all the students time to get down to the dragons’ enclosure—though, of course, the majority of the students don’t know  _ that _ .  Lily pushes back her nerves. She knows she’ll have to play her cards just right in this case for her to be believable as Lily Smythin, Heiress Black and nothing else. Slytherin knows her as a direct Heiress of Slytherin, a full Elemental and Parselspeaker, but the rest of the school doesn’t, and it’s going to stay like that.

People all around her at breakfast are wishing her luck. Lily smiles, letting the allure take care of what she doesn’t have the mental space to do, but of course allure doesn’t work on Draco, a fellow part-Veela.

“So,” he says as they’re walking to Ancient Runes, “how nervous are you? Because Father bet you’d survive five minutes. I bet you’d stand for at least ten.”

It’s a pathetic attempt at cheering her up and they both know it. Lily laughs nevertheless because Draco’s awkward, terrible jibes which are meant to be teasing and conceal actual care for her are simultaneously touching and hilarious.

“I’ll last for at least ten, so you can get your money,” Lily says because she’s fairly sure Draco’s actually made that bet.

“You better,” he says, “or Padfoot’ll come after everyone involved.”

“Another Lord Black and Lord Malfoy collab, but this time over the girl who’s kind of not really their child? Sign me up,” she murmurs as they enter the classroom.

Time rushes by. Potions isn’t quite as intense as it normally is, Professor Snape paler than usual and  _ infinitely _ more tense than normal. It’s his way of showing concern, Lily knows.

“I’ll be fine,” she murmurs as she leaves for her History of Magic class. There, as her charmed quill takes notes for her, she doodles in the margins, ink drawings which come to life. A dragon blows flames lined in ink at a tree, which catches fire with the same animations.  Lily throws that drawing away and draws flowers instead, which open and close and then drop petals.

She enters lunch and gets all of two bites in before Professor McGonagall is hurrying over to her.

“Smythin, the champions have to come down onto the grounds now…. You have to get ready for your first task,” she says, looking harried and tense, too. Lily notes that Cedric’s already gone. When Lily stands, the rest of Slytherin gives soft signs of approval—it isn’t celebration, the fact that someone’s forcefully entered her into a magical contract isn’t something to be celebrated, but it’s a  _ you-won’t-die _ affirmation.

She follows Professor McGonagall out of the Great Hall. As she walks down the stone steps and out into the cold November afternoon, the professor puts a hand on her shoulder.  “Now, don’t panic,” she says, “just keep a cool head…. We’ve got wizards standing by to control the situation if it gets out of hand…. The main thing is just to do you best, and nobody will think any the worse of you…. Are you all right?”

Lily smiles at her. “Yes, I’m fine.”

She’s lead around the edge of the forest, toward the place where the dragon enclosure is. But when they approach the trees behind which the dragons would be visible, she sees a tent erected, entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view.

“You’re to go in here with the other champions,” says Professor McGonagall, in a rather shaky voice, “and wait for your turn, Smythin. Mr Bagman is in there… he’ll be telling you the—the procedure…. Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Lily says, injecting as much false cheer into it as she can. She goes inside.

Fleur Delacour’s sitting in a corner on a low wooden stool, pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looks surlier than usual. Cedric actively paces up and down; when she enters, he gives her a small smile. Lily returns it.

“Lily! Good-o!” says Bagman happily, looking around at her. “Come in, come in, make yourself at home!”  Bagman looks like a slightly overblown cartoon figure in contrast to the paled champions. He’s wearing his old Wasp robes again.

“Well, now we’re all here—time to fill you in!’ he says brightly. “When the audience has assembled, I’m going to be offering each of you this bag”—he holds up a small sack of purple silk and shakes it at them—“from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different—er—varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too… ah, yes… your task is to  _ collect the golden egg _ !”

No one replies though Cedric nods his head, continuing to pace.  Lily supposes the other competitors have it better.  _ They’ve _ volunteered. Barty-freaking-Crouch Jr just threw Lily’s name in the Cup.

It seems like no time at all before hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet are heard passing the tent, the people talking excitedly, laughing, joking, until there’s one silent patch—Lily knows that those are the Slytherins. Then the chatter resumes. And then Bagman’s opening the neck of the purple silk sack.

“Ladies first,” he says, offering to Fleur Delacour. She puts a hand, barely shaking, inside the bag and draws out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon—a Welsh Green with the number two around its neck. Fleur doesn’t show any surprise, but rather, determined resignation.

Lily goes next. She pulls out the Hungarian Horntail with the number four. It stretches its wings and bares minuscule fangs. Lily pets its snout before watching as Cedric comes out with the blueish-grey Swedish Short-Snout nad the number one, and Krum pulls out a scarlet Chinese Fireball with the number three.

“Well, there you are!” Bagman says. “You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I’m going to have to leave you in a moment, because I’m commentating. Mr Diggory, you’re first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now… Lily… could I have a quick word? Outside?”

Lily nods and follows him out.

“Feeling all right, Lily? Anything I can get you?”

Lily smiles, charming. “I’ve got it covered,” she says. “I have a plan. Draco’s always liked dragons.”

A whistle is blown somewhere.

“Good lord, I’ve got to run!” says Bagman in alarm. Lily shoos him off.

Lily walks back to the tent; Cedric’s emerging, greener than ever.

“Good luck,” she murmurs. Cedric barely manages a nod toward her. She goes back inside to Fleur and Viktor, and seconds later they hear the roar of the crowd—Cedric’s ready to face the living counterpart of his model, then.

Lily wishes they could at least see what happens. Instead, they hear the crowd screaming, yelling, gasping like a single many-headed entity as Cedric does whatever he does. Krum stares at the ground. Delacour’s retracing Cedric’s steps, around and around.  Lily thinks Mr Bagman’s commentary might be making things worse.

“Ooooh, narrow miss there, very narrow”... “He’s taking risks, this one!”... “ _ Clever _ move—pity it didn’t work!”

It takes fifteen minutes before the crowd roars, deafening, meaning that Cedric’s gotten the golden egg.

“Very good indeed!” Bagman shouts. “And now the marks from the judges!” He doesn’t shout out the marks—Lily supposes that the judges are showing physical numbers to the crowd.

“One down, three to go!” Bagman yells as the whistle blows again. “Miss Delacour, if you please!”

“Good luck,” Lily murmurs as the girl exits, a faint tremor wracking her head to foot, head held high nonetheless, clutching her wand.

Krum stays silent. Lily starts playing with her magic, drawing shapes and patterns with glowing lines of it.

The same process starts again…. “Oh, I’m not sure that was wise! Oh… nearly! Careful now… good lord, I thought she’d had it then!”

Ten minutes later, the crowd erupts into applause once more, meaning she must’ve been successful too.  There’s a pause for the marks, more clapping, and then the third whistle.

“And here comes Mr Krum!” Bagman cries. Krum slouches out, leaving Lily alone in the tent. Lily gathers whatever magic she has and readies it under her skin like she did when facing the basilisk in second-year. Hopefully, she won’t end up passed out this time.

Something breaks her concentration. “Very daring!” Bagman yells as the Chinese Fireball emits a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd draws its collective breath. “That’s some nerve he’s showing—and—yes, he’s got the egg!”

Applause rings loud again. Lily stands, waiting for the whistle; when it blows, she walks out through the entrance of the tent, past the trees, and through a gap in the enclosure fence.  She blocks out the audience, focuses on the Horntail on the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half-furled, her yellow eyes on Lily, a monstrous scaly black lizard, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground.

Lily holds out a hand—a wandless, wordless Summoning Charm in the middle of the arena.  Then her Firebolt comes hurtling at her. She leaps and grabs it before agilely kicking off from the ground.

Lily casts a strong  _ Protego _ on herself and hopes that it works before she puts her wand away. The Horntail shoots a jet of fire at Lily’s head; rushing warmth passes, but she comes out unharmed.  The tail, however, is still something to be reckoned with, and Lily needs to get close enough to secretly speak with the dragon. Lily hovers for a moment, but then she notices the pattern of the tail—back and forth, every five seconds, and if she times it right she can get in and out to grab the golden egg, gleaming amongst its cement-coloured brethren.  Lily first stiffens the air around the dragon as she pulls into a sharp dive to avoid the jet of flame on instinct—enough to slow it, but not stop its movement so that nothing is suspicious. The dragon, of course, feels the difference. It stops.

Lily’s concentration is broken when Ludo Bagman’s shout echoes into her mind—

“Great Scott, she can fly!” he yells over the crowd. “Are you watching this, Mr Krum?”

But it doesn’t matter, in the end—the dragon is shocked and curious enough to  _ not _ attack.

_ Speaker _ ? it hisses.

Lily nods. She flies closer, so she can whisper—“ _ I’ve got to get the golden egg, try to make it look like you’re still opposing me, please _ ”—and it hums an agreement, blowing a jet of fire right over her head, a leg clawing towards her and offering her opportunity to go under to get the egg—she dives as she summons the egg. She speeds towards the ground as fast as she can, toward the gleaming egg which the dragon’s tail has  _ just _ swept past—the egg is zooming straight into her arms—and then Lily pulls to the side sharply, levelling off, softening the air around her so she can soar out over the stands, the heavy egg under her arm.  The stands are cheering, screaming and applauding until it makes her ears feel like exploding—

“Look at that!” Bagman’s yelling. “Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get her egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Miss Smythin!”

Lily watches the dragon keepers rushing forward to subdue the Horntail, who is already fairly subdued. It winks at her. Lily smiles back.  At the entrance of the enclosure are three professors—Snape, Moody, and McGonagall.

“Good job,” Uncle Severus says as she dismounts the broom. “We all did think you’d gotten your head burned off for a moment, though.”

Lily shakes her head. “I cast a Shield on myself. Wasn’t sure if it would work at all, but it did.”

“That was excellent, Smythin,” Professor McGonagall says. “You should check with Madam Pomfrey still before the judges give out your score… Over there, she’s had to mop up Diggory already….”

“Nice and easy does the trick, Smythin,” he growls, his magical eye dancing in its socket. Lily inclines her head toward him before she goes to the first aid tent.

Madam Pomfrey looks worried.  “Dragons!” she says, disgusted, pulling Lily inside. The tent is divided into cubicles; she can make out Cedric’s shadow through the canvas, but he’s sitting up at least.

She does a basic check for any injuries, talking furiously all the while. “Your second year, a basilisk, this year dragons, what are they going to bring into this school next?”

Lily laughs. “Hopefully, nothing.”

“You’re free of injury, though  _ how _ … well, you can go get your score.”

“Thank you,” she says, picking up the golden egg and exiting the tent.

Outside are Draco and Pansy.

“The other three are still in the stands, in case they decide to put up scores before you come out to see them yourself,” Pansy says. “You were brilliant.”   


“All the Slytherins are betting you spoke to it. It’s winking eye was at that angle where our entire section could see it,” Draco says.

“Yes, there’s that. What did the other competitors do?” Lily says.

“Cedric transfigured a rock to a dog for bait,” Pansy says. “Ingenious, really, except. Well, the dragon changed its mind halfway through and decided it’d rather have him than a measly Labrador; he only just got away.”

“Fleur tried Veela magic to put it into a trance. It got sleepy but snored a flame onto her skirt. She got the egg easily after she put out the water,” Draco says, quietly. “She’s telling everyone it’s a family charm, though. Technically, she’s not wrong.” His eyes are amused.

Lily laughs. “And what about Krum?”

“Hit it in the eye with a Dark spell. He got marks docked for the dragon trampling about half its eggs in agony, though,” Pansy says. “You and Fleur definitely did best. No injuries from you, a singed hem from Fleur, no eggs crushed, quick times. But, of course, Krum’s first right now, Fleur’s second.”

The three of them reach the edge of the enclosure. Without the Horntail, Lily can see where the five judges sit in raised seats draped in gold.

“Marks out of ten,” Draco says. Lily nods.

Madame Maxime raises her wand in the air. A long silver ribbon shoots out of it, twisting into a ten. Lily smiles up at her, letting drips of allure out.  Mr Crouch comes next. He shoots a nine into the air.

“I suppose you weren’t quick enough for him,” Pansy says. “He’s been giving lower marks across the board.”

Dumbledore puts up a nine. The crowd’s still cheering.

“Doesn’t want to show favouritism, I suppose,” Draco murmurs. “The smartest move I’ve seen from him in a while.”

“Wasn’t a problem in first-year, at the last feast,” Lily murmurs. Pansy hides a snort.

Ludo Bagman—another ten. The crowd goes wilder.  Karkaroff raises his wand. He pauses for a moment, and then a number shoots out of his wand too—a seven.

Lily laughs. “I suppose we all play favourites. Some of us are just better at hiding it,” she says. Draco and Pansy look torn between amusement and fury; the crowds are expressing their fury well enough, though, so they settle for amused grins.

“You’re in first, anyway,” Draco says. “I think you’ll have to go back to the champions’ tent. Is that Charlie Weasley coming at us?”

Lily turns to see that it is, indeed Charlie Weasley. She grins and waves. “Hey! Did you come with the dragons?”

Charlie grins back and nods. “Nice going! You’ve got first place. Listen, I’ve got to run, I’ve got to go and send Mum an owl, I swore I’d tell her what happened—she’s been worried sick about you since the news came out. But that flying was unbelievable! Oh yeah—and they told me to tell you you’ve got to hang around for a few more minutes…. Bagman wants a word, back in the champions’ tents.”  And then he’s off.

Lily laughs. “In a rush, isn’t he? All right, I’ll see you two later,” she says, going into the tent.

Fleur, Cedric, and Viktor are all already there. One side of Cedric’s face is covered in a thick orange paste, presumably mending his burn. He grins at Lily.

“Good one,” he says.

“You too.”

“Well done,  _ all _ of you!” says Ludo Bagman as he bounces into the tent, looking as pleased as though he personally just got past a dragon. “Now, just a quick few words. You’ve got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half-past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth—but we’re giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you’re all holding, you will see that they open… see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg—because it will tell you what the second task is, and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!”

Lily leaves the tent and rejoins the Slytherins. They round the bend and a witch jumps out from a clump of trees. It’s Rita Skeeter. She’s wearing acid-green robes, a Quick-Quotes Quill in her hand.

“Congratulations, Lily!” she says, beaming at her. “I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing that dragon? How you feel  _ now _ , about the fairness of the scoring?”

Lily smiles, deceptively angelic, green eyes glowing. “I’ll give a piece of advice, then.”

Rita Skeeter looks  _ delighted _ at that. Lily’s delighted, too, for other reasons.

“Perhaps you could check who owns the most shares in every single newspaper, and then put that Quick Quotes Quill away, or I  _ assure _ you… it will be difficult to publish an article for a while.” The way she smiles is a little more sadistic, a sharp curl of the lips.

Blaise doesn’t even bother to hide his amusement. “Let’s go,” he says, and the six of them set off back to the castle.


	11. The Kitchens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Lily figure out the golden egg clue and Lily and Hermione take a visit to the kitchens.

Of course, the Slytherins celebrate. It’s difficult not to when the house-elves have already decorated the common room for a party and filled every available elevated flat surface with food.

It’s in the middle of this that one of the second-years goes up to her. “You should open it!” he says, eyes bright with excitement.  Slytherins have never really cared about the rules of the Triwizard Tournament, especially the one on ‘don’t receive help from others’.  Lily takes the heavy golden egg from its place of honour, carefully prying it open from the groove running around it. It’s hollow, with absolutely nothing in it—but the moment she opens it, everyone regrets it.  The most horrible noise, loud and screechy wailing, fills the room.  Nonetheless, the syllables of it sound familiar—Lily and Draco exchange excited looks and glance out of the vast, floor-length windows in the common room as she closes the egg.

“What  _ was _ that?” asks Blaise, looking extremely shaken.

Lily’s eyes are lit up, dancing; her lips curl. “Mermish,” she says. “Draco, did you catch any? I thought I heard some bits and phrases— _ we cannot sing above the ground _ … something about being past an hour and black? Oh, and  _ we’ve taken what you’ll miss _ .”

“I caught some of the later lines. ‘An hour long you’ll have to look’ and then another couple of lines. The last one was ‘Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.’”

“Okay, we’re going to go translate this,” Lily says. “Enjoy the food, don’t forget to thank the house-elves!” she calls to the other Slytherins as she and Draco round the corner to his room, which has Silencing wards on it.

By the end of the hour, they’ve pieced together a working translation:

“ _ Come seek us where our voices sound, _

_ We cannot sing above the ground, _

_ And while you’re searching, ponder this: _

_ We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss, _

_ An hour long you’ll have to look, _

_ And to recover what we took, _

_ But past an hour—the prospect’s black, _

_ Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.” _

“But… the merpeople are  _ serious _ when they make songs like this,” Lily says.

Draco’s face is grim, too. “I  _ wish _ the organizers would bother to learn the culture of the people they use in these tasks.”

“They’re, like, the underwater version of Fae, aren’t they. They’re not kidding about the time limit, though the event coordinators might be,” Lily says. “They’ll let us rescue them with minimal opposition for the first hour, and then—”

“If one of them  _ fails _ , then,” Draco says, paling. “And they’ll certainly be people. Not just the political implications of this, but—!”

Lily nods. “I’ll stay until fifteen minutes before the end of the hour. Whoever’s left, I’ll bring up,” she says. “ _ My _ score can take a hit. I don’t want to win, anyway.”

“First we need to figure out what you’re going to use to get  _ down _ there without drawing attention to the fact that you’re an Elemental,” Draco says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “ _ Screw _ the git who put your name in the cup.”

“I’ll ask the house-elves that when I check in on Winky tomorrow,” Lily says. “They aren’t students or professors, after all.”

“How is she?” Draco asks, already clearing the table of the scribbled-over parchments. “Dobby visited me last night, nearly scared me to death, but didn’t tell me much about Winky.”

Lily shrugs. “She’s doing… better. She’s not drinking three Butterbeers a day anymore.”

* * *

The start of December brings wind and sleet to Hogwarts. The Durmstrang ship, still docked in the lake, pitches in the high winds, black sails billowing; the Beauxbatons caravan is only saved from the cold by extensive Warming charms everywhere.

The Beauxbaton Abraxan, however, are very well provided for, especially in terms of their preferred single-malt whiskey. Even the purebloods, with high tolerances for alcohol from a combination of practice and birth, are a little light-headed from the fumes which waft from the corner of the paddock, which is especially unhelpful during Care.  There are only ten Skrewts left, all of them six feet long with thick grey armour, powerful scuttling legs, fire-blasting ends, and stings and suckers. They are, collectively, the ugliest thing Lily’s ever seen, and she’s seen the boys who stole her sweater at her orphanage.  The next Care class, Hagrid brings out enormous boxes lined with pillows and fluffy blankets and presents them to the class in the pumpkin patch.

“Hagrid, I don’t think they hibernate,” Lily says doubtfully, eyeing the  _ very energetic _ Skrewts.

“We’ll jus’ lead ‘em in here,” he says, “an’ put the lids on, and we’ll see what happens.”

The skrewts, however, do not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in.

Hagrid’s soon yelling, “Don’ panic, now, don’ panic!” while the skrewts rampage around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smouldering wreckage of the boxes.

Lily does not panic. She  _ does _ shoot four strong Stunners as Draco takes on the other five. “What did you want to do with them?” she asks, staring down at the  _ disgusting _ creatures and wondering where the last one’s escaped to.

“We can’t throw them in a river and hope they survive?” Draco mutters. “Or better yet, lock them in some forsaken dark corner to rot away?”

“Jus’ try an’ slip the rope ‘round their stings, so they won’ hurt any o’ the others!” Hagrid shouts.

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want that!” Ron shouts angrily. Lily and Draco turn to him—he and Lloyd are using their wands to shoot jets of fiery sparks at the skrewt, who’s backed them into the wall of Hagrid’s cabin.

Draco shoots another Stunner, this one particularly strong if the way his silvery eyes suddenly glow is any indication.

“Well, well, well… this  _ does _ look like fun.”

Lily pinches the bridge of her nose and turns to see Rita Skeeter leaning on Hagrid’s garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She’s wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, her crocodile-skin handbag over her arm.

“Who’re you?” Hagrid asks her.

“Rita Skeeter,  _ Daily Prophet _ reporter,” Rita replies, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glint.

“Thought Dumbledore said you weren’ allowed inside the school anymore,” Hagrid says, frowning slightly as he tightens the rope around the skrewt’s stinger and starts tugging it over to its fellows.

Rita acts as though she hasn’t heard Hagrid. Nevertheless, Lily has, and she’s more than a little confused—Dumbledore telling Rita that she can’t come back onto school grounds is certainly enough for Hogwarts’s wards to respond and to block her out based on appearance—unless.  Lily briefly wonders how Rita Skeeter always seems to appear out of nowhere. A small Animagus, perhaps? Her eyes narrow at the woman, who’s now asking for an interview on Blast-Ended Skrewts.

“She’ll twist everything he says,” Lloyd mutters under his breath as he and Ron join the other six Slytherins and Hermione.

“Just as long as he didn’t import those skrewts illegally or anything,” Hermione says, sort of desperately.

“He’s bred these himself, I’m fairly sure,” Draco says, looking down the Pumpkin Patch at where the ten Skrewts lie. “Which is illegal.”

“Hagrid’s been in loads of trouble before, and Dumbledore’s never sacked him,” Ron says.

Lily inclines her head. “That’s true. Best case scenario, Hagrid has to get rid of the skrewts.”  They all laugh.

“Lunch, shall we?” Pansy says. “The house-elves are outdoing themselves this year with the food.”

Hermione’s eyes narrow slightly. “Lily, could I talk with you?” she says. Lily smiles and hums, and the two of them fall back.

“Shall we meet in the kitchens, end of classes, next Monday?” Lily says. “Dobby’s been meaning to thank you for all the socks and beanies you’ve been knitting and leaving around the common room.”

“You heard about them?”

Lily laughs. “The house-elves told me when I checked in on them. I had to calm them down. Then Dobby told me his version of events and I noticed he had a multitude of new knit garments. Hermione, currently no-one but the Headmaster and the owners of Hogwarts can dismiss the house-elves.”

“Oh.”

Lily hums.

* * *

Hermione is already waiting at the portrait of the fruit bowl, where Lily told her to meet her at, when Lily arrives.

“Hermione!” she greets. She stares expectantly at the pear on the portrait, which has gotten used enough to her coming and going that it generally becomes a doorknob before Lily even touches it.  The pear, however, remains still in the presence of a stranger.  Lily sighs and tickles it for barely a second before it turns into a knob. “After you,” she says, nodding. She walks in after Hermione and closes the door.

Dobby, as always, is first to greet her. He doesn’t wear the Hogwarts uniform—Lily doesn’t force him; for all intents and purposes, his contract is that of a free elf with a bond, however contradictory it sounds at first.  And besides, Lily enjoys seeing what Dobby digs up and considers fashion. It’s a very childlike innocence.

“Miss Lily! Miss Lily is here again! And she has brought a friend!”

“Hermione Granger, Dobby. I’m sure you two have heard of each other,” Lily says. “I think Mr Malfoy freed him… when was it, Dobby? A couple of years ago? I—well,  _ Dumbledore _ —hired him. His contract is a bond with things like pay so he can get new clothes.”

Lily has since learned that Dobby is not quite so strange—his desire for freedom comes from a desire for fashion, in fact, and fashion is expensive, and so he gets paid, too. Lily first offered ten Galleons a week and weekends off, because high fashion is high fashion and then Dobby gets more free time to travel and perhaps, in secret, attend some fashion shows, but Dobby looked horrified and batted it down to one Galleon a week and a day off a month.  The other house-elves wear a tea towel stamped with the Hogwarts crest, tied like a toga, all kept clean. Winky wears the uniform, too—Lily told her to write the contract however she wanted, and Winky wanted normalcy.

Hermione is looking around in something between wonder and bafflement. Lily simply sits down—all the house-elves are waiting in a line. This is when she converses with her elves, and it takes a humongous amount of time, but that’s why she does it Monday evening.

“Dobby, how have you been? Any new clothes?” she asks. Dobby grins and shows him a sock covered in pink and orange stripes.

“Dobby must thank Miss Granger, too, for the clothes!” he exclaims as if he’s just remembered. Lily smiles.

“I heard from Lorby that you were looking for a shirt,” Lily says. “I thought you might like this.” It’s a colourfully patterned Muggle Aloha shirt, shrunk for size. She presents it to him and immediately his big green eyes fill with tears.

“Thank you, Miss Lily!” he exclaims, very loudly and very watery.

“Dobby,” Lily says. “Think of it as a thank-you for second year. How’s Winky?”

“Winky’s doing much better, miss. She even made scones today, says that those scones are for you!”

Lily beams, magnetic. “I’m glad to hear that.” She knows that her house-elves are obliged to keep her secrets, but Lily would like them to  _ want _ to keep her secrets. House-elves are ingenious, and there’s a reason why their gossip mill is so full.  Hermione watches silently as Lily makes her way through the line of house-elves.

“Do you do this every Monday evening?” she asks.

Lily smiles and nods. “Of course. I’d like those that cook for me to like me,” she says.

Then, Winky appears with the scones, in her Hogwarts uniform.

“Winky!” Lily exclaims, beaming. “Dobby told me you made scones for me. Thank you very much,” she says.

Winky smiles, tentative. “I is hoping you enjoy them, miss. I… I is used to making these for Master Crouch all the time—”  And she bursts into tears. Lily’s expected it, but Hermione looks horrified.

“Oh dear,” says Hermione. “Winky, don’t cry, please don’t…”

Lily sets the scones down. “It’s all right, Winky. I’ve seen him around at Hogwarts. He is doing very well.”

That’s a lie. But Lily’s not going to give Winky the truth, considering Winky’s current state. As always, Lily picks Winky up and sets her on her lap. Generally, Lily would pull out her wings then, and let Winky cry as much as she wants while the rest of the house-elves chatter with her and bring all sorts of food and new recipes and tell stories and rumours, but Hermione’s here so she just pats Winky’s head as the house-elf cries. She murmurs quiet, soothing words at the house-elf.  Originally, when Lily first did it, Winky had protested fiercely, but Lily’s always been good at working other people around to her, and Winky’s no different.

“Would Miss Lily and Miss Granger like a cup of tea?” Dobby squeaks over her sobs. “We has a restock on that chamomile tea Miss Lily has to help her sleep—” he pauses, probably seeing the way Lily pales and darts a glance at Hermione. Then he barrels on, figuring that he’s dug the grave already. “We has restocked the tea from Pinky and Trinket, miss, who brought it from Potter Manor!”  All the house-elves draw back. Dobby does too and looks about ready to wring his ears, even though it’s not part of his contract.

“Dobby, it’s fine,” Lily says, as gently as she can. Hermione is staring at her in shock.

“Potter Manor?”

Lily hums. “Potter Manor. You must know that Padfoot is Lloyd’s magical guardian? Pinky and Trinket reached out to him.”  The house-elves settle, nodding amongst themselves as if this is the new truth of the matter. Winky’s stopped crying—she hops down and heads straight for Dobby, who backs away. Lily laughs at the antics.

“Winky, it’s quite fine. I’m going to try your scones, all right?”  Winky surely knows what Lily’s doing with the diversion, but she turns around anyway to ask Lily how the scone is.  Then, after Lily’s told Winky how good the scones are, and the house-elves are all settled, Hermione speaks.

“Do you get paid?”

Immediately, as the other house-elves recoil slightly, Dobby speaks up. “I is getting paid, miss. Miss Lily offered Dobby ten Galleons a week and weekends off,” Dobby says, giving a small shiver, “but Dobby beat her down, miss…. Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn’t wanting too much, miss, he likes work better.”

“He’s using the Galleons for all sorts of new clothes,” Lily says. The other house-elves have recovered; they’ve come to accept Dobby’s love of clothes, even if they don’t understand it.

Hermione smiles and turns to Winky, who, like the other elves, sit cross-legged, eating chocolates.  “And how much are  _ you _ being paid, Winky?”

Winky suddenly glares, massive brown eyes furious. “Winky may be a disgraced elf, but Winky is not yet getting paid! Miss Lily let Winky write her contract and Winky is having a proper bond!”

“Oh, Winky, she didn’t mean it like that. You’re not disgraced, you’re here. And if you were, it would all be a misunderstanding, anyway,” Lily soothes, repeating the same words she’s said for the past year.

“Winky, it’s Mr Crouch who should be ashamed, not you! You didn’t do anything wrong, he was horrible to you—”   


Lily winces. Winky claps her hands over her ears and screeches, “You is not insulting my master, miss! You is not insulting Mr Crouch! Mr Crouch is a good wizard, miss!”   


“Mr Crouch is a fine wizard, Winky,” Lily says, “and both of you will certainly be fine.” She turns to Hermione.

“House-elves are obliged to keep their household’s secrets and silence. The better the wizard or witch they serve, the more proud they are to do so,” she says. “Mr Crouch has good intentions, even if his motives are hidden to you.”  Lily glances at Winky. She hasn’t asked Winky about Bartemius Crouch Jr; Lily thinks that has something to do with Winky being sacked, but she doesn’t think Winky will give up those secrets and Lily’s not sure that she wants to know.

“I think we both have homework yet to do, though,” she says. “I’ll see you all soon.”

They press snacks into her hands; Lily smiles and accepts them as they usher her out with cries of ‘until next week’ and ‘come soon’.  They walk along in silence for a little while.

“Don’t they  _ want _ freedom?” Hermione asks.

“Work is like their hobby,” Lily says, “a bit like if Lloyd went on to play for a Quidditch team. And they only need the bond to survive; their magic is powerful enough otherwise, so to give Galleons or vacation days is generally considered an insult to their loyalty and ability. Dobby likes money because he likes clothes, but even he wouldn’t let me do a working salary, very nearly was insulted with me.”

“I suppose they’re at least treated well,” Hermione grumbles.


	12. A Festive Season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter specifically on the Yule Ball because I am Weak

The Yule Ball is fast approaching, and the school is acting up for it. 

Everlasting icicles are attached to the bannisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall are bedecked with everything from luminous holly berries to real, hooting golden owls; the suits of armours are all bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passes them; even Peeves is behaving. Rumours fly across the school, both about invitations and the ball itself—there’s a rumour that the Weird Sisters are going to play, but from the twinkle in Dumbledore’s eyes, Lily wouldn’t doubt it.

Lloyd is getting propositions right and left due to his fame; he denies each one. A couple of boys ask Lily out, too, but Lily has the good sense to tell the first boy that she’s going with Draco, and the news spreads that she’s off the table already.

Traditionally, the champions open up the dance, which is nothing new for Lily and Draco. The fact that there are _dancing_ lessons for one of the simplest dances, however, is strange. Technically, it makes sense. Still, most of the purebloods blow off the classes, even Neville. Meanwhile, Lily is receiving all sorts of gossip from all corners—Ginny says she and Neville are going together, and in the same breath, tells her that _Viktor Krum_ asked Hermione out.

That night, Lily goes to Pansy and Daphne. “Pansy, if you wanted to dance with Ron—” she begins. Pansy cuts her off with a pained glance.

“ _No_ ,” she says. “Do you know what I heard happened? Ron told Hermione, ‘hey, you’re a girl! Go out with me?’ right after she got asked out by Krum in the library and he got rejected by Fleur Delacour, and then when Hermione told him that she had a date he accused her of lying. Roger Davies, actually, is going with Delacour.”

Lily stops and stares. “Did Ron _really_? I’m glad Hermione’s going with Krum, then. Who’s he going with?”

“The Patil twins. Lloyd was in a frenzy and asked the first girl who walked in and then arranged Ron’s date,” Daphne says. “Supposedly, he tried to ask Cho Chang.”

“Oh, but Cedric got to her ages ago.”

They both hum. “He did. I heard Hagrid’s going with Madame Maxime, though,” Daphne says.

“They’ll be able to dance together, then,” Lily says. “Have any new articles by Skeeter come out?”

Pansy shakes her head. “I don’t like it, it’s like the calm before the storm.”

* * *

Finally, the holidays come around and the term ends. They’ve been given an extraordinary amount of homework, homework which the Slytherins endeavour to get out of the way as soon as possible so they can spend the rest of break being, in general, schemingly unproductive.

Lily herself uses the time to catch up with Fred and George, who are experiencing great success with a new treat called Canary Creams, which turn the eater to a canary, and Lily makes a mental note to never accept any food from Fred and George in the future. First, putting beetles in Bill Weasley’s soup, then the Ton-Tongue Toffee, now the Canary Creams—Lily will not run any of those risks.

Then, of course, she sends off her gifts—to the Malfoys, to the Weasleys, to Padfoot and Moony, to all the political acquaintances but Theo’s father—and wraps the others to be personally sent. Uncle Severus, the three Gryffindors, Ginny and the twin Weasleys, Luna Lovegood and Cho Chang, Cedric Diggory and Susan Bones, and the other five Slytherins—that, combined with the tradition she has of preparing gifts for all her teachers and then small gift bags for her house-elves, has her relatively busy. At one point, Draco and Pansy enter her room, planning to go into the Forest, only for both of them to back away quickly as a multitude of appliances flit around on their own—bags shaking themselves open, candies and small charms pouring into them, then twine closing the bags, and cards from another assembly line flitting to tape onto the bag. In the corner, scissors furiously cut the paper into small square card sizes, dropping them into a neat stack which Lily then takes and, in looping calligraphy, writes names and messages and well-wishes. However, in the middle of the week, Lily’s done with it all, and she re-emerges in the common room to play chess and practice languages, Veela flying, Elemental powers, Darker magic, and other fun things.

Lily is woken up in Christmas morning by the crack of House-Elf Apparation. She flicks a hand and the lights go on. “Good morning,” she tells Pinky, who’s hiding something behind her back. “What time is it?”

“Five in the morning, Mistress,” Pinky says, awkwardly edging around, the secret things still hidden behind her back.

“Oh. What are you holding?” Lily asks, tilting her head. Pinky averts her eyes. “Okay. Wait, are they presents?” She perks up.

Pinky doesn’t give any indication of having heard, so Lily groans. “Okay, I’ll close my eyes.”

“Until six o’clock, Mistress. More is coming,” Pinky says. Her voice is a little strict.

Lily laughs and nods. “No peeking until six, understood.” She sets an alarm for that hour, and the moment it goes off—she counts at least four more cracks of Apparation in that time—she all but jumps up.

All of the presents she’s prepared which have lined the walls, which she’s secretly been dreading to hand out, are already sent out; in its place are rows of gifts, from both students and wizards and witches outside of Hogwarts. In the end, Lily argues that they should all open presents in Lily’s room, mainly because she doesn’t want to parade all of them down to the common room or _anywhere_ really. It turns out that most of Lily’s food presents go into the pile of shared Christmas loot. She gets a famed Weasley sweater, too, which she dons and attempts to make fashionable.

“You look like a fashion model in the worst sense,” Pansy ends up saying. “It’s much too baggy for you.”

Lily sticks her tongue out. “I’m keeping it on, it’s warm. Should we go to the Forbidden Forest for a snowball fight?” After all, they do have a superior, snooty reputation to upkeep.

The fight goes on longer than expected until it’s lunchtime. Before then, they all cast various Scourgifying spells on each other, so the snow dissipates and they look presentable. Theo’s hair can’t be helped.

The lunch includes at least a hundred turkeys and Christmas puddings, accompanied with large piles of Cribbage’s Wizarding Crackers.

They return to the common room after lunch, as all of them have gotten at least one book as a present, and they end up moving in front of the fire. There isn’t supper tonight; at eight, the Yule Ball commences with a feast, meaning that at five, Daphne, Pansy, and Lily bid farewell to the boys and go up to Pansy’s room to prepare for the Ball. Lily is suddenly reminded of her first Christmas gala, one she attended at eleven, and the way once Pansy learned Lily was coming, extended an invitation to come early and “prepare” with her and Daphne.

The same thing happens now; Lily’s carefully hitting Daphne’s hair with firm charms to curl it, careful of the way Daphne tends to move (a lot) as she applies her makeup, as Pansy spells Lily’s hair into a crown braid, layered first with a fishtail and then with a loose French braid. Finally, both of them are finished—Pansy spells in a thin, detailed silver tiara as decoration at the very end and then all but yells ‘Viola!’—and they switch places. Lily splits off to change into her dress robes—they call them dress robes, but really Lily sees no difference in style between _this_ and Muggle dresses. Mostly, it’s a deeper green, the bodice and off-the-shoulder sleeves made of lace and the skirt on the fuller side, silk swirling around her. Accents of silver and brighter green sometimes flash as she moves.

“You’re wearing the silver heels again?” Pansy says, from where Daphne’s spelling her hair into soft waves. “If you step on Draco in those—”

“He’ll make a terrible fuss,” Lily says. “But I won’t step on him. And if I doubt we’ll be dancing anywhere fast enough to injure each other.”

“Perhaps as the last dance,” Daphne says. “Supposedly, that’s tradition.”

Lily hums as she slips into the delicate stilettos and begins applying makeup—a quick, small wing, mascara, neutral-toned eyeshadow and then highlighter and a dash of glitter on her cheekbones. “Should I stick with lip gloss tonight?” Lily asks.

Daphne shrugs. Now, she ‘s working on putting Pansy’s hair in a braided half-up half-down. “I don’t think it matters, you’ve got Veela inheritance.”

Lily pouts but turns back to the vanity, dabbing on lip gloss. “So does Delacour, but she wears lipstick, I’m fairly sure.”

“It’s a subtle colour, though.”

They fall silent again, Daphne going to change as Lily begins adding jewels to Pansy’s makeup. 

“If these are difficult to take off, I’ll die and haunt you,” Pansy murmurs, mostly concentrated on contouring.

Lily hums. “So long as you admit that it looks spectacular.” She leans back, having just placed the last and smallest gem near Pansy’s eye.

“Are those from the trip to Germany?” Pansy suddenly says, having caught sight of Daphne in the mirror. “Those are stunning.”

Daphne laughs and twirls, the pale blue skirt flowing with her. “I know! Hurry, I want to see the dress robes you’ve picked.”

And so Pansy does, emerging later in pale pink robes, frilled at the ends with delicate embroidery. Lily thinks she catches gold threads in it, which shine slightly in the light—subtle without being subtle at all, really, and Lily has to say it’s all a bit ingenious.

“Those are the ones from Germany, too,” Daphne says, looking amused. “But they’re beautiful. Let’s go, we’re going to be some of the youngest years so we should be at least on time.”

They meet the boys in the common room. Draco’s wearing his black velvet robes, detailed with silver and high-collared. His hair is less slicked back than normal—in preparation for dancing, Lily’s learned after so many years.

“Shall we go, then?” Draco says, extending an arm in an overly formal bow. Then he straightens in shock. “You’re wearing the Ladyship rings in the open?”

Lily hums. “I doubt anyone will look twice at them, not at this time, and it’s not like I’m wearing _all_ of them. I mean, I’ve been wearing the Ladyship necklace in the open for this past school year.”

Draco pauses. “We didn’t even _notice_ ,” he says. “Well, then, let’s go.” They pair off neatly; Pansy falls in line with Theo, who’s wearing a more modern piece in grey, and Daphne takes Blaise’s navy-clad arm. They emerge out of the dungeons and head to the Great Hall, the doors still closed.

Pansy taps Lily’s elbow. “Hermione’s tamed her hair for this,” she whispers, nodding over to where the Durmstrang students are walking in through the oak front doors, headed by Krum and Hermione, wearing periwinkle blue dress robes.

As Hermione passes, Lily throws her a smile, and then redirects her attention outside—the area of lawn’s been transformed to a grotto of fairy lights, with actual fairies sitting in rosebushes and fluttering over statues.

Then Professor McGonagall’s voice calls, “Champions over here, please!”

“See you in a minute,” Theo says. Pansy’s preoccupied, looking amused at the awkward way that Blaise and Daphne are handling themselves.

Lily and Draco both nod toward him before they walk forward, the chattering crowd parting for them. Professor McGonagall, wearing dress robes of red tartan and a hat wreathed with thistles, has them wait on one side of the doors as everyone else goes inside; they’re to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of the students sit down. Draco and Lily greet Roger Davies, who’s mostly occupied by looking at Fleur Delacour. Cedric and Cho are matching in silver and gold, respectively, standing next to Draco and Lily; next to them are Hermione and Viktor Krum.

“You look stunning,” Lily whispers to Hermione. “Which spell did you use for your hair?”

Hermione looks vaguely sheepish as she smiles, nervously. Lily notes that her buckteeth are gone, too. “Sleekeazy’s Hair Potions,” she says. “It took a while, though.”

Once everyone else is settled in the Hall, Professor McGonagall tells the champions and their partners to get in line in pairs and to follow her. They follow her instructions and everyone in the Great Hall applauds as they enter and start walking up toward a large round table at the top of the Hall, where the judges are sitting.

The walls of the Hall have all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables are vanished; instead, there are about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people. Dumbledore smiles happily as the champions approach the top table; Karkaroff simply looks sullen as he watches Krum and Hermione draw nearer. Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, claps as enthusiastically as any of the students. Madame Maxime, who’s wearing a flowing gown of lavender silk instead of her normal black, applauds them politely. The fifth seat is occupied by Percy Weasley instead of Mr Crouch, who’s wearing brand new navy-blue dress robes.

“I’ve been promoted,” Percy says to Lily in an undertone. “I’m now Mr Crouch’s personal assistant, and I’m here representing him.”

“Why didn’t he come?” Lily asks, concerned, mostly because of Winky.

“I’m afraid to say Mr Crouch isn’t well, not well at all. Hasn’t been right since the World Cup. Hardly surprising—overwork. He’s not as young as he was—though still quite brilliant, of course, the mind remains as great as it ever was. But the World Cup was a fiasco for the whole Ministry, and then, Mr Crouch suffered a huge personal shock with the misbehaviour of that house-elf of his, Blinky, or whatever she was called. Naturally, he dismissed her immediately afterwards, but—well, as I say, he’s getting on, he needs looking after, and I think he’s found a definite drop in his home comforts since she left. And then we had the tournament to arrange, and the aftermath of the Cup to deal with—that revolting Skeeter woman buzzing around—no, poor man, he’s having a well-earned, quiet Christmas. I’m just glad he knew he had someone he could rely upon to take his place.”

Lily makes a sympathetic noise. “Is Skeeter a registered Animagus?” she asks out of the blue, knowing Percy won’t question it.

“Oh, certainly not,” Percy says. Lily blocks out his next rant.

There’s no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus are lying in front of each of them.

“Watch Dumbledore,” Draco murmurs out of the corner of his mouth.

Dumbledore looks carefully down at his menu, then says very clearly to his plate, “Pork chops!” And pork chops appear.

Lily orders her food with the rest of the table. Then, she and Draco continue a quiet banter, occasionally pulling in Cedric or Cho into it. Lily’s aware of Hermione and Viktor getting on tremendously well next to her—Lily’s quite glad of it, and she hopes that Ron doesn’t ruin the night for Hermione (her eyes dart to wear Ron is eating, very sullenly).

When all the food’s been consumed, Dumbledore stands and asks for everyone else to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoom back along the walls, leaving the floor clear, and he conjures a raised platform along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes are set upon it. The Weird Sisters now troop up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause and pick up their instruments. The lanterns on all the other tables go out and the champions and their partners all stand, walking to the brightly-lit dance floor to open up the Ball. The Weird Sisters strike up a slow, mournful tune, a very odd rendition of a more classical piece. The steps fall easily in place; arguably, this is one of the easier dances, and Draco and Lily laugh as they step and twirl through it. Eventually, other people begin joining—Neville and Ginny, Mad-Eye and Professor Sinistra. On the end of the third song, Draco and Lily end up where Lloyd and Ron are; only one Patil twin is sitting on Ron’s side. Hermione’s sitting next to Lloyd.

“Have you two danced?” Lily says, she and Draco easily breaking away from the music.

“Viktor’s just gone to get some drinks,” Hermione says, fanning herself with her hand, a pink flush in her cheeks, eyes bright.

“ _Viktor_ ?” Ron says with a withering look. “Hasn’t he asked you to call him _Vicky_ yet?”

Lily conjures two seats for her and Draco; they sit next to Hermione. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the second Patil twin up and leave with a Beauxbatons boy.

“What’s up with you?” Hermione says, looking at him in surprise.

“If you don’t know,” says Ron scathingly, “I’m not going to tell you.”

Hermione stares at him, then at Lloyd, who shrugs.

“Ron, what—?”

“He’s from Durmstrang!” spits Ron. “He’s competing against Lily! Against Hogwarts! You—you’re—” Ron pauses, casting around for words strong enough to describe Hermione’s crime, “ _fraternizing with the enemy_ , that’s what you’re doing!”

Lily’s eyes flash, features sharpening. She takes Hermione by the hand. “Hermione, you mentioned that Viktor’s getting drinks? Let’s go meet him, yes? Draco, you have your etiquette talk handled?” Draco hums, deceptively pleasant and all the more terrifying for it as his silver eyes are piercing, angles of his face steep and defined.

Hermione walks off to where Viktor’s form, in bloodred robes, is, Lily keeping in stride with her. “Don’t let him ruin the night,” Lily says, a wry smile on her lips. “I don’t think you’re _fraternizing with the enemy_ , in case that’s not clear.” Hermione laughs at Lily’s impression of Ron, and for now, that should be enough, so Lily turns back around to where Draco is standing, calmly lecturing a gaping Ronald Weasley.

“Nearly done?” she asks, dropping her chin on his shoulder.

“And remember, if you want to ask a lady out, do it in advance and respectfully,” Draco says, then turns to her. “Yes. Shall we go back?”

Lily hums and they waltz back onto the floor, which seems to clear a space for them.

Throughout the night, they take a couple of breaks now and then, collecting drinks and then wandering outside, sometimes exchanging words with the other students they know.

On one of those breaks, they hear Hagrid’s voice—

“Momen’ I saw yeh, I knew,” he’s saying in an oddly husky voice.

Lily and Draco can make out the silhouette of Madame Maxime, as well, but then Lily hears a buzzing noise and a shiny beetle with spectacle markings flies over to their bush, between them and the two half-giants. Lily pins it with a stare and picks it up. “I thought Hogwarts just ran extermination on bugs for the Yule Ball,” she says. Draco looks from the bug to Lily and then peers more closely at the bug. He, no doubt, notices the spectacle markings too and comes to the same suspicions.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he says, and takes it and puts it back on a leaf. They turn away, unwilling to hear the rest of whatever Hagrid’s confession is, and they walk away, skirting the bush only half-hiding Davies and Delacour.

“Hagrid _is_ half-giant, right? I didn’t jump to any conclusions when I assumed that?” Lily murmurs as they walk back in.

Draco shrugs. “Either that, or he ran afoul of an Engorgement Charm. I suspect the former.”

The ball continues until midnight, and as Daphne suggested earlier, they _do_ finish with a fast, upbeat, intricate dance, one which is terribly difficult even for the Sacred 28, and even more so because the Weird Sisters are playing it double-time. It’s marked by a sudden change of music, which has most of the participants vacating the floor, to sit and watch whoever dares to perform to the music. Draco and Lily beam at the challenge and whirl right into it, setting their drinks down and almost flying to the centre of the floor. Around them, some other Slytherins and ghosts join in—Rowena Ravenclaw, giving the Bloody Baron his dance, most notably—along with Cedric and Cho and Delacour and Davies. These dances do not change from continent to continent, after all.

They start quite fine; it’s a bit fast, certainly, but Lily and Draco know this dance, a knowledge rooted somewhere in their blood, or bones, or perhaps just the depths of their subconscious. It’s a long dance, they can both tell, one which requires endurance and speed. They continue whirling, the music growing sharper and faster; they, too, weave through elaborately complicated positions and patterns with more sharpness and speed. Lily catches Draco’s eyes, silver and glowing, his face all angles and taking in so much light, dangerous and elegant, and Lily knows she looks the same.

This is the kind of dance which makes a single misstep dangerous, later on, and earlier on makes a single misstep look idiotic. Pair by pair drops off the dance floor, losing the strain of the music and not being able to pick it back up again—it’s going too fast now, too sharp and too fast.

Lily tilts her head back and laughs, stray tendrils escaping her black braid which takes in so much light, the slight tiara in her hair gleaming, as she turns three times in a single second. Her dress flashes bright green and silver, her eyes glow, and occasionally the sharp, thin tip of the silver stiletto appears amidst the flowing skirt. Draco, blond hair loose but perfectly placed, all the same, glows; his black robes swirl with every step, the silver catching the light, and he moves just as quickly, whirling her expertly through different footwork. His pale face is all angles, all light, and it’s quite like the two of them have taken in all the brightness from the lights above the dance floor and are now exuding it themselves.

The music reaches crescendo after crescendo, speeding up until it seems impossible for a human to keep up. They don’t miss a step. There’s a final, crashing note, like a tsunami wave hitting the beach for the first time, and they finish, their ending pose dazzling— _radiant_.

They separate. Draco gives Lily a high-five. “Did it,” he says.

Lily hums. “Let’s go get our drinks.”

* * *

Even the majority of the Slytherins give in and get up late on Boxing Day. Lily, however, is not one of them. Annually, Lily makes it a point to check her Activo Relati and other boring things that she has to do as Lady of different Houses, and it’s always on Boxing Day that she does so precisely because everyone else wakes up late, giving her plenty of time to go over everything. She always starts with the boring things first—bank account statements, and then the information collected from her wards, before she finally gets to opening the Activo Relati.

This morning is no different. It takes about half an hour to flip through the banking statements, something which is only possible because Lily’s been asking for monthly reports, too, meaning the annual report is significantly shorter. It takes an hour to flip through the information gathered from her wards around each Manor, though. The wards don’t log house-elf activity, but they do log Muggle activity, and there are always door-to-door salesmen who approach the Gaunt House, which now looks very respectable.

Then, Lily opens her Activo Relati. They don’t log the activity of the Lord or Lady of the House, but they do log the activity of all the other members (which is inconvenient, because if they _did_ log the activity of the Lord of a House, Lily would know exactly how many Horcruxes Riddle’s created. As it is, she only knows of the diary—destroyed—because it comes from a time when Riddle was not Lord Slytherin). 

Lily ignores everything she sees with Draco’s name on it, more for the sake of trust and saving time—he’s the Heir of Slytherin as a result of Lily not wanting Lloyd Potter to be the Heir—but she pauses when she sees a familiar name come up.

 _Tom Marvolo Riddle_.

The date is just late summer, weeks before the Quidditch World Cup. The words send a chill—Tom Marvolo Riddle has created a living Horcrux.

 _Already_? Lily can’t help but think that the Dark Lord moves fast, especially considering how little soul he has left in him. She pinches the bridge of her nose. The Dark Lord has another Horcrux, this one living; imposter-Moody is Bartemius Crouch Jr. and wants to kidnap her so that the Dark Lord can use her and then kill her; and on top of all that, Lily has every intention of not letting the whole world know that she once was Genesis Lily Potter until said Dark Lord is gone.


	13. Half-Giant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Rita Skeeter strikes again and Lily, with her hatred of monologuing, does an impressive monologue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why I love Lily talking with house-elves so much but I do and it is a weakness.

Draco slides  _ The Daily Prophet _ over to Lily. He’s silent—fuming, Lily realizes when she takes in his eyes and the sharpened features.

“Take a look,” he says, nodding at it.

Lily opens it. “Skeeter’s article?” she asks. Draco nods. Lily flips to that page. It’s an article topped with a picture of Hagrid looking extremely shifty.

_ DUMBLEDORE’S GIANT MISTAKE _

_ Albus Dumbledore, eccentric headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, has never been afraid to make controversial staff appointments, writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. In September of this year, he hired Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody, the notoriously jinx-happy ex-Auror, to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts, a decision that caused many raised eyebrows at the Ministry of Magic, given Moody’s well-known habit of attacking anybody who makes a sudden movement in his presence. Mad-Eye Moody, however, looks responsible and kindly when set beside the part-human Dumbledore employs to teach Care of Magical Creatures. _

_ Rubeus Hagrid, who admits to being expelled from Hogwarts in his third year, has enjoyed the position of gamekeeper at the school ever since, a job secured for him by Dumbledore. Last year, however, Hagrid used his mysterious influence over the headmaster to secure the additional post of Care of Magical Creatures teacher, over the heads of many better-qualified candidates. _

_ An alarmingly large and ferocious-looking man, Hagrid has been using his newfound authority to terrify the students in his care with a succession of horrific creatures. While Dumbledore turns a blind eye, Hagrid has maimed several pupils during a series of lessons that many admit to being ‘very frightening.’ Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student, was attacked by a hippogriff last year. _

_ Hagrid has no intention of ceasing his campaign of intimidation, however. In conversation with a Daily Prophet reporter last month, he admitted breeding creatures he has dubbed ‘Blast-Ended Skrewts,’ highly dangerous crosses between manticores and fire-crabs. The creation of new breeds of magical creature is, of course, an activity usually closely observed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Hagrid, however, considers himself to be above such petty restrictions. _

_ “I was just having some fun,” he says, before hastily changing the subject. _

_ As if this were not enough, the Daily Prophet has now unearthed evidence that Hagrid is not—as he has always pretended—a pure-blood wizard. He is not, in fact, even pure human. His mother, we can exclusively reveal, is none other than the giantess Fridwulfa, whose whereabouts are currently unknown. _

_ Bloodthirsty and brutal, the giants brought themselves to the point of extinction by warring amongst themselves during the last century. The handful that remained joined the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and were responsible for some of the worst mass Muggle killings of his reign of terror. _

_ While many of the giants who served He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named were killed by Aurors working against the Dark Side, Fridwulfa was not among them. It is possible she escaped to one of the giant communities still existing in foreign mountain ranges. If his antics during Care of Magical Creatures lessons are any guide, however, Fridwulfa’s son appears to have inherited her brutal nature. _

_ In a bizarre twist, Hagrid is reputed to have developed a close friendship with the boy who brought around You-Know-Who’s downfall—thereby driving Hagrid’s mother, like the rest of You-Know-Who’s supporters, into hiding. Perhaps Lloyd Potter is unaware of the unpleasant truth about his large friend—but Albus Dumbledore surely has a duty to ensure that Lloyd Potter, along with his fellow students, is warned about the dangers of associating with part-giants. _

“He’s not even  _ pure human _ ?” Lily says, voice quiet and silky. Her features are sharpened too; the two Slytherins are like fine blades. (Hagrid has grown on both of them.) “I could care less about the rest of it—he  _ shouldn’t _ have bred those bloody Skrewts, most giants  _ are _ like trolls and don’t bother to control their bloodlust, Dumbledore  _ is _ one of the least responsible adults I’ve had the pleasure to meet—but he shouldn’t be interpreted as  _ this _ .”

Draco’s eyes are glittering. “She  _ dared _ to use that incident in third-year? He didn’t—doesn’t— even know I’m part-Veela. Not even  _ pure human _ .”

“And she trespassed on Hogwarts ground again, to hear that bit of him being half-giant—you’re thinking of the same bug I am, aren’t you?” Lily says.

“And she’s unregistered,” Draco says. He stands abruptly. “I’ll go ahead and let the Gryffindors know. I doubt Hagrid will show his face in our next class.”

“He won’t,” Lily says. “Shall we agree to keep a lookout for a shiny beetle with spectacles?” Her smile is devious, mostly cruel.

Draco’s answering smile is a curl of the lips that looks more like a smirk than a smile, sadism twisting along his skin.

* * *

Their substitute teacher for Care is a strict older woman who goes by Professor Grubby-Plank. She prepares a unicorn for their class; the unicorn is merely a foal, trembling and shrinking away from them. It’s so intensely white that the snow looks dull in comparison; its golden hooves send snow spraying and it keeps throwing back its head, the horn glinting in the cold sunlight.

“Boys keep back!” she barks. “They prefer the woman’s touch, unicorns. Girls to the front, and approach with care, come on, easy does it….”

Lily tunes her out and approaches. Her core is grey, not Light, but she’s a part-Veela, meaning the unicorn is less likely to shy away. It doesn’t shy away, garnering her a few stares, but Lily continues to feign obliviousness as she starts to pet the unicorn. She supposes, even if she has a reputation as a very good, helpful Slytherin, there is something almost paradoxically unexpected to her classmates in having a Slytherin sat next to a unicorn, petting it.

When the bell rings, cutting through the cold air, the unicorn tenses. Lily says goodbye and rejoins Draco, Vincent, Theo, and Gregory; Pansy and Daphne are close behind her.

“That was a very… ordinary class,” Pansy says. “Although it’s a shame you couldn’t have come along.”

Theo hums an affirmative, though he sounds anything but sad at a missed chance to touch a unicorn. “Uh-huh.”

“It wasn’t quite what I thought a Care class would be like, admittedly,” Daphne says. “I expected less petting unicorns and more learning about manticores and sphinxes.”

“Well, we learned about manticores and fire-eating crabs for the better part of the year so far,” Draco says. “Although only parts of each one.”

“I hope those skrewts die,” Pansy says.

Theo rolls his eyes. “Join the club.”

They walk past a group of Gryffindors. Parvati Patil is saying something,  “...proper creatures like unicorns, not monsters, but I suppose given what Hagrid is—”

“What about him?” Lloyd says suddenly. Lily catches the way his blue-green eyes suddenly seem more vibrant than ever before and she conceals her surprise. So her twin  _ does _ have some of the Fair Folk in him. (Lily doesn’t know why she expected anything else, really; they’re  _ twins _ .)

Patil just shrugs flippantly. “Well, he’s not all human, is he?”  That has all the Slytherins are seething, too, mostly on behalf of Lily and Draco, but most of them have had creature ancestors at  _ some _ point.

“Patil, do you have a problem?” Draco says.

Lily hums. “After all, you’d do well to remember that most of  _ our _ ancestors have magical creature blood. And that  _ your _ family’s only alive still because of giant blood introduced in the eight-hundreds.”

Parvati Patil flinches back. The Slytherins brush past her and head to the Great Hall for lunch.

“Was that bit about her family true?” Daphne murmurs.

“Of course not,” Draco replies.

“We do need to get rid of the skrewts, though. We can’t kill them outright, their shells prevent that, but… poison?” Lily says.

Daphne smiles. “I’ve got some in my trunk. Breathe the fumes and you’re good as dead within thirty minutes.”

“Perfect,” Draco says, with feeling, and then continues, “How many drops for each skrewt?”

“Probably only two,” she says. “Return it to me, though.”

Theo rolls his eyes. “We’re not  _ idiotic _ .”

(The skrewts end up killed by the end of dinner. Not even Hagrid — who has returned to classes after the three Gryffindors all but broke down the door to his hut to tell him no-one  _ really _ cared he was half-giant — is particularly sad, although he has them all properly cremated, put into urns, and then buried.)

* * *

That weekend finds the Slytherins at Hogsmeade with the Gryffindors. They enter Three Broomsticks, probably hoping to find Hagrid, but Hagrid is indeed not there. Ludo Bagman, however, is; he looks strained, talking to the goblins. Lily casts a subtle Notice- Me-Not charm and then orders a butterbeer from Madam Rosmerta. She keeps her eye on Bagman, who suddenly hurries out of the pub; the goblins follow him. Lily assumes he’s in a spot of trouble monetarily. Her attention returns to the table they’re all crowded around.

“Uh-oh,” Ron suddenly says, staring at the door.

Skeeter’s just entered. She’s wearing banana-yellow robes, her long nails painted shocking pink, accompanied by her paunch photographer. They buy drinks and make their way to a table nearby; Skeeter talks loudly and quickly.

“... didn’t seem very keen to talk to us, did he, Bozo? Now, why would that be, do you think? And what’s he doing with a pack of goblins in tow, anyway? Showing them the sights… what nonsense… he was always a bad liar. Reckon something’s up? Think we should do a bit of digging? ‘Disgraced Ex-Head of Magical Games and Sports, Ludo Bagman…’ Snappy start to a sentence, Bozo—we just need to find a story to fit it—”

“Trying to ruin someone else’s life?” says Lloyd loudly.  A few people look around. Rita Skeeter’s eyes widen behind her jewelled spectacles as she sees who’s spoken. Lily levels a considering glance at Draco, who’s doing the same to her—that is, a way to lure Skeeter out to follow them, in her Animagus form specifically.

“Play along,” Draco whispers. Then he stands and speaks before Skeeter can speak.

“Lily, should we head off to Madam Puddifoot’s?” he says, just loud enough for Skeeter to pick up on.

Lily smiles and takes his forearm. “Sure. We’ll see you guys later,” she addresses the rest of them, who are gaping. She chances a look at Skeeter, who’s looking  _ thrilled _ . Game, set, match.

They reach Madam Puddifoot’s and take a seat—Madam Puddifoot gives them a knowing glance and an unnerving ‘I did think you two were together, always wondered why you didn’t come in,’ before getting them tea.  Then, it’s a simple game of waiting.

“I can’t believe bait was so simple,” Draco murmurs, keeping his voice low so none of the other couples can hear them. “I’ve prepared a terrarium of sorts for her if you happen to want a bug as a pet.”

“I don’t trust Azkaban and Animagi anymore,” Lily says, “so I think I’ll have a beetle pet whether I like it or not.”

Draco’s next words are only half-joking. “Well, I’m sure if you set it at a Muggle train station during rush hour, it’d only be counted neglect and not murder.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Moody for a spider or two, they might eat beetles,” Lily says.

The door opens. A wind gusts through. There’s a black shine floating in the air, which settles on the windowsill next to them. Lily and Draco smirk, simultaneous, and then Draco nods his head a tiny bit towards the bug. There’s a phantom light and the bug freezes, three legs up, toppling over.

“Nice Stunner,” Lily says as she picks the bug up. “I suppose we should go back to the castle?”

“You can go, I’ll make your excuses. I’m sure there’s some, ah, business you want to take care of with her,” Draco says.

* * *

“Ah, I remember doing this with Pettigrew in my first-year,” Lily hums, her smile only surface-level pleasant. She shows too many teeth and the curl of her lips is predatory; it’s further enhanced by the way her green eyes glow—truly like Avada Kedavras—and the elegantly dangerous angles of her face. 

“Of course, he ended up in Azkaban, only to escape.” She tuts. Her gaze pierces Skeeter, bound to the chair, her wand in Lily’s hand. “We can’t have that happening, can we?”

“You—you—” 

“Trespassing on Hogwarts ground,” Lily says, “spreading slander, promoting insidious gossip among the magical community, outright discrimination in one of the most widely-read magical newspapers, unethically sourced accessories”—the crocodile-skin handbag dissolves—“use of highly-frowned upon instruments in the journalism field”—here, Lily snaps five Quick-Quote Quills, the other ones magically combusting—“it seems like your list of offences goes on and on, Miss Skeeter. I suppose we can add an illegal, unregistered Animagus to the list.”

Her following laugh is sharp—clear and bright, but distinctly mocking. “It’s a shame stupidity isn’t a crime, we could add that one on, too. Shall we consider what I told you earlier when you asked if you could have a word after the first task? I remember giving you a warning if my memory is clear—and generally, I will say that it is  _ very _ clear. So what made you think to challenge that?”

“I—I—”

“Admittedly, back  _ then _ , I didn’t know you were an unregistered Animagus,” Lily says. “Back then, I was considering having Lord Henry fire you and then make certain you couldn’t find a job anywhere else. But you gave yourself away at that first Care of Magical Creatures class when you appeared out of nowhere and Hagrid mentioned you weren’t allowed on Hogwarts ground.” She pauses and turns back to Skeeter, who’s still there, pale and trembling.

“Why are you still here?” she says. “That was long enough for you to become a bug and escape those ropes.”  Promptly, Rita Skeeter poofs out, seeming to disappear. Lily’s smile stretches slowly, predatory again, and she casts a wordless, wandless Stunner at the struggling beetle, shiny with spectacle markings.

Lily laughs, softer, but no less dangerous. She drops the bug into a glass jar.

* * *

“How did it go?” Pansy asks as she spoons stew into her bowl. “Your date with Draco?”

“Hm?” Lily looks up. “Oh, we caught Skeeter in her Animagus form. Gave her a few words. She’s in a jar in my dorm as of now, she can’t transform back inside of it.”

Pansy stares at her. “ _ What _ ? I was going to ask you why neither of you told anyone you were dating, but this is— _ what?” _

“Draco and I aren’t dating,” Lily says. “It was bait for Skeeter to follow us, try and eavesdrop in her Animagus form.”

Pansy mutters something under her breath, mostly to herself, that sounds like “ _ and here we thought they figured their relationship out _ .”

Lily ignores her in favour of finishing the last of her soup. “I’ll see you later, I’ve got to go down to the house-elves and ask for help to breathe underwater.”

“All right. Where’s Draco?”

Lily shrugs. “I think he’s doing his homework in the library.” With another small wave, Lily walks through the Great Hall’s walls and exits into the kitchens.

Immediately, the house-elves pause their work.  “Miss Lily!” comes the general, chaotic cry of a hundred squeaky voices.

“Hello,” Lily says, smiling. “I was wondering if any of you knew spells to help someone breathe underwater.”

“Is it for the second task?”  Lily looks across and finds Trinket, the house-elf’s arm around Winky. She nods.

“Gillyweed,” she says immediately. Her eyes return to Winky. Lily’s fairly sure Winky’s caved again and drank too much butterbeer, but she supposes everyone has their off days. “Professor Moody said so. But, Mistress, you know he is  _ not _ .”

“I know who he is,” Lily says. “Thank you. I’ll see if Uncle Severus has any Gillyweed he can spare, then. I only need to pretend to eat a small bit of it. Are you all still busy?”

Some of them shake their heads and sit down around her, bringing scones and tea and other pastries.

“How have you been?”

An eager chorus of voices come to her, telling her about their work, the people they’ve caught snogging in broom closets (Delacour and Davies stand out; Lily thinks they’re insatiable, really), and that Professor Snape’s private stores have been stolen from, ingredients needed for the Polyjuice Potion.  They glance at her meaningfully when they tell her that.

“I know about Moody,” Lily murmurs when they circle back to the subject again. “I need him to be compromised before I can deal with him, though.”  With that assurance, the house-elves turn to more frivolous rumour and Lily laughs along with them.


	14. The Second Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The merpeople are fascinated by Lily and Lily and Draco realize Something Important about themselves (which is not actually that deep). Mr Crouch Sr dies, too.

It’s the night before the second task. The six Slytherins are in a hidden alcove of the library, one which Draco and Lily had expanded in second-year and then filled with more comfortable seating, better lighting, and a coffee table, which all look like very regular Hogwarts-library things if one isn’t authorized to see it. Suddenly, Lily flips over onto her back, her wand blossoming flowers and bubbles to float into the air. “Who do you think they’re going to take as the person I’ll sorely miss?”

She finds herself on the receiving end of some glares, mostly looks questioning her intelligence, which Lily doesn’t think she’s been subject to for a while.

“What?” she asks. Draco looks just as confused as her, so Lily takes that as a comfort.

“Who do you  _ think _ they’re going to take as the person you’ll most sorely miss?” Blaise asks.

For that, Pansy throws a pillow at him. “You and Daphne don’t  _ get to talk _ ,” she says. “Just because you finally went to the Ball together and are dating, finally—”

“Well, they went to the ball and they’re not—”

Draco and Lily exchange a confused look as around them, an argument breaks out.

“Uh, so who do you think they’ll take?” Lily asks tentatively. Theo seems to be withholding a sigh as he pats Lily’s shoulder.

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Lily doesn’t entirely appreciate his patronising tone. Still, she settles. “It might be you, Draco. If I can’t make it to the bottom of the lake, you better be able to fight off some merpeople.” Draco hums and returns to his book.

For a second, there’s blissful quiet again; then, there’s a shout.

“Hey! We thought you guys might be here,” Ron says.

“We’re in the  _ library _ , Ron, hush,” Hermione scolds.

“What brings you to us?” Daphne asks, polite as ever.

“Ah, McGonagall wants you, Draco. She wants me, too, but I’ll tell you later—”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Lily breathes. “Okay, Draco, remember to be ready to blast apart the mermaids if I don’t make it to you.”

“I’m sure we’ll all be fine and rescued within the hour, don’t worry,” he says, tapping her shoulder, and then turns to go with the three Gryffindors.

“Merlin, the two of you,” Blaise begins. He stops when Pansy’s glare lands on him. Theo chuckles.

* * *

The next morning, Lily grabs a small clump of Gillyweed from her godfather’s stores, leaving behind a note so that he doesn’t think some random student is stealing his supplies. When she enters the Great Hall, she notices that all the other champions are visibly nervous. Well, the stakes  _ have _ raised in this event. She, too, feels a thrill of nerves. Like always, Lily forces it down by reminding herself that she has killed a basilisk with nothing but her magic.

Draco’s absence is notable at the Slytherin table. Most of the Slytherins look confused; Draco doesn't usually miss breakfast, and even then Lily generally makes excuses for him. Now, they’re getting radio silence; Lily picks at chocolate pancakes (how those ended up on her plate will be an ongoing mystery for everyone outside of Hogwarts, who doesn’t know the castle’s obvious preference for her) as she huddles and speaks in a whispered undertone with Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Daphne. More accurately, Pansy and Theo; Blaise and Daphne are secretively feeding each other as the other Slytherins valiantly pretend to not notice.

“Oh, she’s coming,” Lily suddenly says, glancing up and meeting eyes with Professor McGonagall, who’s drawing near to their table with Cedric already in tow. Immediately, everyone glances up at her, as if compelled. There are murmured encouragements; the rest of the Hall is louder, however. Lily lets out a smile which drips allure in response, setting off a wave response of smiling and dazedness.

They head out to the Great Lake. The seats which encircled the dragons’ enclosure are now ranged along the opposite bank, rising in stands that are packed to the bursting point and reflected in the lake below.

“They’re going to make them watch the surface of the lake for an hour?” Lily murmurs to Cedric as they enter the Champions’ tent, presumably to get ready.

“I suppose,” Cedric says. “How did you figure your egg out? I ended up sticking it under water because Moody told me to take a bath with it—odd professor, he is, but.” He shrugs.

“Draco and I translated it,” Lily says. “I suppose we both forgot mersong can be understood underwater.” Her smile is half-rueful.

Bagman descends and Lily does a successful job at not cringing away from him when he wraps an arm around her. “All right, Lily?” he whispers as he steers her a few feet apart. Cedric raises an eyebrow, which Lily shrugs in response to. “Know what you're going to do?”

Lily hums and nods. “I’ve got it figured out.”

Like last time, footsteps pound on through, laughing and chattering; then, as the last noises fade, they’re brought out to the bank. Krum’s wearing swimming trunks, already holding his wand ready. The crowds are cheering, the sound seeming to echo off the surface of the lake. Bagman turns away, casting a  _ Sonorus _ charm on himself as he returns to the judges’ table, where Percy is. Percy waves at Lily; Lily returns a smile.

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle,” Bagman says, his voice booming across the dark water toward the stands. “They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One… two…  _ three _ !”

The whistle echoes shrilly in the cold, still air as the stands erupt with cheers and applause. Lily, wearing waterproof robes, pulls the clump of Gillyweed and pretends to eat it as she wades into the water, freezing cold. Then she dives in, tucking the Gillyweed back into her pocket, and she uses her control over water to clear a pathway for her. Lily casts a Point Me for the merpeople and sets off that way, careful to swim high enough above the seaweed so that the grindylows aren’t tempted to go for her. She mostly ignores the scenery as she speeds by; forests of rippling, tangled black weed and wide plains of mud littered with dull, glimmering stones. Small fish flicker by her and Lily’s uncertain whether it’s due to the fish’s speed or her own—Lily’s creating currents behind her so that the water is quite literally pushing her where she needs to go, while in front of her there’s an air pocket so she doesn’t suffocate and drown.

At last, haunting mersong starts coming through the water—

_ “An hour long you’ll have to look, _

_ And to recover what we took…” _

Lily pushes the water behind her again and she soon sees a large rock emerge out of the muddy water ahead. It has paintings of merpeople on it; they’re carrying spears and chasing what looks like the giant squid. She swims past it, following her Point Me.  A cluster of crude stone dwellings stained with algae suddenly looms out of the gloom on all sides. Here and there at dark windows, Lily caught sight of merpeople; their greyish skin and yellow eyes peer out. Long, wild, dark green hair flashes as the water carries it in currents; occasionally, one with flash yellowed broken teeth. Lily can’t help but notice the thick ropes of pebbles around their necks, even the children, who more bravely and more curiously come by to say hello, beating the water with powerful, silver fishtails.

Lily pauses to speak some Mermish with them; they seem awed that Lily can speak at all. Other merpeople begin to emerge, too, as the children swim with her through the town—there are gardens of weeds around some of the houses, and a pet grindylow at another house, tied to a stake. Then she explains that she needs to go rescue her friends and immediately the merchildren point her around a corner. She bids farewell and thank you.

The sight which meets her eyes is odd, but Lily doesn’t know what she expected. A whole crowd of merpeople float in front of houses that line what looks like a village square. A choir of merpeople are singing in the middle, calling the champions toward them; behind them rises a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. Four people are bound tightly to its tail. Between Hermione and Cho Chang is Draco. There’s a girl who looks no older than eight, clouds of silvery hair making it clear that she’s the younger Delacour. All four of them appear to be in deep sleep, heads lolling on their shoulders, fine streams of bubbles issuing from their mouths.

Lily catches sight of Draco and something unfamiliar rears in her throat—is it worry? Anger? She speeds toward them. Then she sits and waits, her eyes pinned on Draco.

“What are you doing?” asks a seven-foot-tall merman with a long green beard and a choker of shark fangs. His voice comes out in clear, decipherable English, but Lily knows there’s a very low chance that her voice in English will translate to clear, decipherable Mermish just from the proximity of water, so she replies in Mermish.

“Waiting for the others,” she says simply. It just sounds like screeching to someone  _ not _ fluent, but Lily doesn’t think she’ll be talking to merpeople when Muggles are around, so she doesn’t have complaints about the language.

They change their song at some point.

_ “... your time’s half gone, so tarry not _

_ Lest what you seek stays here to rot…” _

Lily lets her magic gather, just in case, a bright green gaze still pinned on Draco. She’s made very little headway in identifying what that thing in her heart and throat is. Perhaps it is just a worried love for her closest friend, but arguably, she’s seen him with wings bursting out of his back and hadn’t felt that.

Cedric appears first, with a Bubble-head Charm on him. Lily makes a slashing motion with her hand and the thick, slimy seaweed rope binding her is cut. The current floats her up to Cedric, who looks at her in surprise.

“I’ll wait for the others,” she calls to him. “Go on ahead.”

The merpeople warn her to Krum’s appearance with animated screeching. Lily turns and sees a human body in swimming trunks with the head of a shark. The shock Lily’s in gets Krum close enough to start biting at Hermione’s ropes; Lily’s worried that with the new positioning of Krum’s teeth, he’ll somehow injure Hermione.

“Krum,” Lily calls. He turns away; that’s enough time for her eyes to glow, her hand to come down, and the rope around Hermione to loosen. “Do you know where Delacour is?”

Krum shakes his head, already making off with Hermione. Lily sighs and sits. She casts another Tempus—five minutes into her fifteen-minute leeway for the time limit.  _ Ten minutes left. _ Lily brings her hand down—the ropes around both Draco and Delacour drop.

“You can only take your own,” says the seven-foot merman.

Lily flashes a sharp smile. “If she is on Hogwarts, she is mine,” she says, and the merpeople seem to understand what Lily is insinuating—her ownership of the ground they live on—because they clear respectfully enough for her.

“Thank you,” Lily murmurs, and then she’s managing three powerful currents pushing her, Draco, and the younger Delacour over to the bank and toward the surface.

The merpeople follow along with her—she hears whispers of  _ Elemental _ —except then, Draco’s current seems to be propelling itself. Lily supposes that means Draco’s about to wake; as a Water Talent, his magic is instinctive; Lily’s requires focus. She’s glad she only has to focus on herself and younger Delacour, now. She thinks they pass both Cedric  _ and _ Viktor. She can’t be bothered— _ they’ve _ fetched their hostages and met the requirements, but Fleur has yet to touch her younger sister and her younger sister  _ has _ to get to Fleur before the hour is up.

“What’s happening?” Draco mutters in a minute, seemingly focused on creating a pocket of air in front of him while keeping the current behind him going. “Oh.”

Lily hums, pushing the odd sensation in her throat away. “Can you take the younger Delacour? Frankly, I’m exhausted.”

“How long did you stay down there, pulling air down from hundreds of metres above you?” Draco huffs. They both know he’s exaggerating, but his point stands.

“A little over half an hour. I’m not quite so delicate,” Lily replies. 

Bringing the younger Delacour up turns out to be a joint effort. When they break the surface of the lake and Draco levitates the little girl up onto the shore before they both clamber out, the crowd shouts and screams, seeming to be on their feet. Merpeople are catching up with them, their heads poking out of the water, mostly beaming. There’s a tiny bit of resentment, perhaps at the trick Lily pulled which walks the line between cheating them of their prize of a human body, but they’re mostly proud of Hogwarts having an Elemental again. About twenty of them start to sing again.  They’ve made the hour limit, Lily notices.  The judges all stand, watching; Madam Pomfrey immediately comes over to fuss over them.  Meanwhile, Madame Maxime’s trying to restrain Fleur Delacour, who’s fighting tooth and nail to return to the water.

“Gabrielle!  _ Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she ‘urt?” _

Lily pulls away to go to Fleur, bringing Gabrielle Delacour with her. Fleur touches Gabrielle and Lily relaxes a little.  “She’s fine,” Lily says. “Cold, perhaps.”

Fleur breaks free of Madame Maxime, somehow, and is hugging her sister. “It was ze grindylows… zey attacked me… oh, Gabrielle, I thought… I thought…”

“I wouldn’t have left her,” Lily says. “Not with the mersong.”

Fleur’s eyes scan her, analytical, and then Draco, who is a Light Veela and much more typical-Veela-looking. “ _ Ah _ , I see,” she says. “I am grateful to both of you, then.” And that’s that.

“Come here, you,” says Madam Pomfrey, pulling both Draco and Lily over. She wraps both of them so tightly in blankets that it feels like a straightjacket.

The hour passes and Cedric appears a minute later, pulling Cho; Madam Pomfrey finds another object for her fussing and Lily and Draco sneak out of the mediwitch’s sight. Another while later, Hermione appears with Krum, still half-shark.

“I was worried,” Lily says, her brow furrowed. Draco seems tentative as he casts a drying charm on her hair and then pets it.

“You didn’t need to. I would’ve escaped.”

“I know.” There’s a small frown, something of confusion, on her face.

The crowd hasn’t stopped cheering. Meanwhile, Dumbledore crouches at the water’s edge, deep in conversation with the chieftainess; his Mermish is quick and soft, making it difficult for both Lily and Draco to pick up, but in the end, he turns to his fellow judges and says, louder, “A conference before we give marks, I think.”  The judges enter a huddle. Madam Pomfrey’s still fussing over everyone else. Lily glances up to Professor Snape; he nods toward her. The Slytherin stands, however, go on cheering.

Just then, Ludo Bagman’s magically magnified voice booms out, causing silence to fall.  “Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows….

“Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points.”  Lily can see Fleur shaking her head, voicing some sort of protest, as the crowd applauds for her, despite only getting half the full score.

“Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was second to return with his hostage, a minute outside the time limit of an hour.”  Enormous cheers come from the Hufflepuffs; Cho Chang gives Cedric a glowing look. “We therefore award him forty-seven points.”

“Karkaroff’s going to make sure you don’t get a full score,” Draco murmurs.

“Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective. We award him forty points.”  Karkaroff claps particularly hard, looking very superior.

“Lily Smythin used gillyweed to great effect,” Bagman continues. “She returned first, within the time limit. The Merchieftainess informs us that she was first to reach the hostages and left last, carrying two hostages with her. Most of the judges feel that this shows moral fibre and merits full marks. However… Miss Smythin’s score is forty-nine points.”

“One point,” Lily murmurs. “He pulled it down only by one point?” Her lips twitch upwards at the thought of fighting so hard, just to take off one point.  Draco laughs. The noise of the crowd drowns most of it out, though.

“The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June,” says Bagman. “The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions.”

Moments later, Draco and Lily are rushed by their friends. Pansy is the first to reach them, a wide smile splitting her face.  “Did you two finally figure it out?!” is her first question.

Lily stares, uncomprehending—and then it clicks. All those insinuations from them, comparing her and Draco to Blaise and Daphne, that odd tightness which still hasn’t fully left her—she glances at Draco, who seems to have reached his epiphany, too.

“You  _ didn’t _ ,” Theo says, sounding incredibly disappointed in the both of them.  Draco and Lily exchange a glance which is only a little off-kilter.

“I—” Draco begins. “Could you give us privacy?”  Blaise, Daphne, Theo, and Pansy all leave with almost too much laughter.

“So—”

“Are we both—”

They look at each other and laugh. It is perhaps a little idiotic, to have felt that brief moment of panic and confusion because as their friends have alluded to, they’ve always acted like they were together.

“Together, then?” Draco asks, purposefully vague nonetheless.

Lily laughs. “You can  _ say _ it, you know,” she teases. “Do you think Uncle Severus will be surprised? Or your parents?”

Draco snorts. “No, but Padfoot might be.”

“How are we breaking it to him?”

“We can just kiss in front of him, that’ll make it pretty obvious,” Draco says.

* * *

Easter comes and goes. Time feels like it slips through Lily’s hands; with each day, she knows Voldemort grows a tiny bit more powerful, as babies are wont to do, and the tenser she is, waiting for imposter-Moody to spring something on her.

Lily, of course, tries to find outlets for her worry; she and Draco learn the Patronus Charm in her roomed trunk, and after almost too many errors, cast them.

At first, Lily has no idea what her Patronus is; neither of them can maintain a corporeal Patronus for an extended amount of time, and most of the time the Patronus comes out blurry; then, it becomes clear that it’s a Granian Winged Horse. Lily’s found that when she casts for happy memories, she has to combine a train of them to produce something corporeal, and even then she has a limited timeframe to pick from.  And for the first time, Draco completes a spell  _ ages _ before Lily does — a fully corporeal hippogriff Patronus, one he can use to send messages and scare off dementors.  Still, they both get it in the end, and the Patronuses are used to enter their friend’s dorms and, very close to the ear, release a loud message to wake up. But despite their new pastime of figuring out the hardest spells they can learn in Hogwarts, both Lily and Draco are anxious for the third task to be announced, although Draco isn’t competing.

It’s at the last week of May that Professor Snape tells her to go to the Quidditch field at nine o’clock that night, and that Bagman will tell her about the task there. Her godfather makes his distaste for the Head of Sports with a grimace as she and Draco have dinner with him.

“Do you know what it’ll be?” Draco says.

Professor Snape shakes his head. “Since I’m Lily’s godfather, I’m not told much. However, I’ve heard that you’ve gotten help?”

Lily nods. “It’s quite strange. Bagman is helping only me, but Moody has been trying, too.”

Professor Snape’s eyes narrow. “You didn’t think to tell me this?”

“Ah,” she says, and it’s accompanied by a wince. “I didn’t want to worry you, and it’s nothing serious. Though a bit out of character.”

“After that dream you had, Lily, I think being a bit out of character is wildly dangerous as of now,” he says. Draco continues eating, keeping his head down for the moment—a smart move, but one which Lily would like to protest if she could.

“I… apologize. I didn’t mean to worry you,” she says. “I mean, you’ve been dealing with Dumbledore, who’s upset that he’s not getting any information on the Dark Lord through Potter, and you’ve been trying to make sure no one kills me, and I know you’ve been talking to Karkaroff. The mark’s getting darker, isn’t it?”

Professor Snape’s eyes narrow again, no doubt sensing the topic switch, but he accepts it. “The Dark Mark is clearer now, yes,” he says. “I may have to spy again.”  Both Draco and Lily wince.

“My father won’t be going back,” Draco murmurs. “We’ve put up all our wards again. Layers of every single one we have in the Grimoire. House-elf magic, too. And the Fidelius, so Lily, you’ll have to talk to Mother and Father about that.” He doesn’t name the Secret Keeper, but Lily has a good idea of who it’d be — honestly, it’s probably Lady Greengrass, who was neutral in the last war. Draco continues speaking. “But Uncle Sev, you’ll—” he hesitates.

“I’ll be fine. My Occlumency shields are still quite strong,” he says, raising an eyebrow.

“What about the rest of the Slytherins? What if their parents go back?” Lily says.

“Inevitable,” he says. “Theodore Nott’s father will certainly be going back, as well others, but like Theo, I doubt the children will allow their parents to choose Voldemort over you, especially if he’s actively trying to kill  _ you _ instead of Potter.”

“They’ll need a place to stay, then,” Draco says.

Lily grimaces. “Padfoot might open Grimmauld Place. It’s already Undetectable and has… significant wards.”

“You do not know he will be back yet,” Professor Snape says, but it’s far from reassuring. “Though, admittedly, he probably will. Do not write to Sirius. I’ll talk to him. However, I think the Headmaster wishes to use Grimmauld Place. Sirius will allow him since he’ll be closer to Potter, his godson, that way.”

“Malfoy Manor is out,” Lily says. Draco doesn’t protest. “So what about one of my places? I have one in France. We can put it under the Fidelius Charm, too. I’ll be Secret Keeper and put everyone else in there. And they won’t expect them to leave the country.”

“If you get kidnapped by a fake Moody, you  _ need _ to come back to do that,” Professor Snape says. His eyebrow raise is thoroughly unimpressed.

“You  _ know _ ?”

“Imposter-Moody is not subtle,” Draco says. “And sometimes, when you’re asleep, you mutter about it in Parseltongue, which I  _ understand _ .”

Lily grimaces. “Right, well. I’ll be careful around him, but it’s not like I can just randomly perform Legilimency on him when he’s on full alert.”

“Do  _ not _ behave like a Gryffindor,” Professor Snape says. “And hurry, your Potions essay does not have a time extension just because you’ve gone to learn about the third task.”

Lily frowns and pokes a potato. “ _ Please _ ?” she says, looking up with puppy eyes.

Draco snorts. “Those stopped working on Uncle Sev  _ ages _ ago. It does still work on Father, though, so if you would—”

Professor Snape pinches the bridge of his nose. “Children,  _ go _ .”

They do, their laughter drifting around them as they go to their rooms to fetch their remaining homework. It's all piling up, now, and Lily’s beginning to realize that she can not always procrastinate.  By nine o’clock, though, everything is finished. Lily walks straight through the wall to enter the locker rooms, where she emerges onto the Quidditch pitch.  There, she meets Cedric. 

“Hey, Lily. What do you think it’ll be? Fleur keeps going on about underground tunnels; she reckons we’ve got to find treasure,” Cedric says.  Lily thinks back to Hagrid’s last Care class on nifflers, dog-like creatures who have a penchant for shiny things—or, the dog equivalent of a magpie.

“That wouldn’t be too bad,” she says.  Then, the Quidditch stadium comes into view.

“What’ve they done to it?” Cedric says indignantly, stopping dead.

The Quidditch field is no longer smooth and flat; rather, it looks as though someone has built long, low walls all over which twist and crisscross in almost every direction.

“They’re hedges,” Lily says as she bends to examine the nearest one. “A maze?”

“Hello, there!” calls a cheery voice. Ludo Bagman is already standing in the middle of the field with Krum and Fleur, so Lily and Cedric make their way toward them. Cedric easily steps over each one; Lily gives up and uses her Disillusioned wings to skim over the hedges. Fleur, no doubt seeing through the Disillusion, smiles at Lily.

“Well, what do you think?” says Bagman happily as Cedric arrives. “Growing nicely, aren’t they? Give them a month and Hagrid’ll have them twenty feet high. Don’t worry,” he adds, grinning as he spots the less-than-happy expressions on the Hogwarts students’ faces, “you’ll have your Quidditch field back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we’re making here?”

“Maze,” Krum grunts.

“That’s right!” says Bagman. “A maze. The third task's really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the centre of the maze. The first champion to touch it will receive full marks.”

“We seemply ‘ave to get through the maze?” Fleur says.

“There will be obstacles,” says Bagman happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Hagrid is providing a number of creatures… then there will be spells that must be broken… all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the champions who are leading on points will get a headstart into the maze, and you’ll enter in order of points. But you’ll all be in with a fighting chance, depending on how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?”

Lily is simply very,  _ very _ glad that they got rid of the Blast-Ended Skrewts when they did. She nods politely with the other champions.

“Very well… If you haven’t got any questions, we’ll go back up to the castle, shall we, it’s a bit chilly….”

Bagman falls in step with the champions. Lily’s very careful to stay further away from Bagman; she doesn’t want more help offered from him.

Then, a flash of movement from the forest catches Lily’s eyes.  Carefully, she distances herself from the rest of the group, walking towards the paddocks for the Beauxbatons Abraxan. She readies her wand in her holster,  _ just in case _ , but continues towards those trees.  Something moves again. Lily stars at the spot.

Suddenly, a man staggers out from behind a tall oak. Lily takes a few moments to recognize him as Mr Crouch; he looks as though he’s been travelling for days. The knees of his robes are ripped and bloody, his face scratched; he’s unshaven and practically grey with exhaustion. He mutters and gesticulates, appearing to talk to someone that he alone can see.  Lily immediately suspects the Imperius curse for his supposed madness; many of her classmates looked the same as they attempted to fight it off.  Still, he seems quite mad, nevertheless—he begins talking to a nearby tree.

“...and when you’ve done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the tournament, Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve….”

“Mr Crouch!” Lily says, stepping forward. Mr Crouch attempts to sep forward, but then he staggers sideways and falls to his knees.  Well, Lily supposes that now she knows where Mr Crouch’s bloodied knees came from.  “Mr Crouch,” she says again. “Are you all right? You’ve been Imperiused, haven’t you? Come on, fight it.” She keeps her voice to a murmur, still ready to draw her wand if needed.

“Dumbledore!” gasps Mr Crouch. He reaches out and seizes a handful of Lily’s robes, who barely prevents herself from flicking her wand at him, and drags her closer. His eyes stare over her head. “I need… see… Dumbledore….”

“All right,” Lily says. “I’ll cast a Patronus, all right?”

“I’ve done… stupid… thing…” he breaths. Every word spoken seems to coast a terrible effort. Lily supposes not everyone can be a natural at resisting Imperius curses. “Must… tell… Dumbledore…”

Lily doesn’t know how long Mr Crouch can hold on. First, she tries to track if anyone else is nearby (she does catch the magic of a person, which seems like Moody’s; Lily can’t say she’s surprised). Then, she casts a Patronus; the winged horse appears, blazing silver.  “For Albus Dumbledore. Tell him that Mr Crouch is at the edge of the Forest near the Beauxbatons Abraxan. It is urgent,” Lily murmurs. The winged horse dissipates.

She turns to Mr Crouch. “Can you tell me the mistake? Does it have to do with Winky and the Dark Mark?”

“My son… wife…”

And then he seems to become incapable of resisting the curse anymore and begins lunging at her. Lily has him Stunned in seconds, then levitates him behind her as she heads towards the hospital wing. Meanwhile, she sends another Patronus.  “For Albus Dumbledore. Mr Crouch is being taken to the Hospital Wing.” And the horse disappears again with a flap of its wings.

Lily walks slowly. When she enters the halls, Moody intercepts her.  “Is he Mr Crouch?” he growls.  Lily nods.  “Have you checked? If he’s under Polyjuice? Give him to me.”  He’s more uncomposed and out of character than Lily’s ever seen, only confirming her suspicions.

“I’ll take him to the Hospital Wing, Professor. The Headmaster knows he’s here,” Lily says. “If he’s an imposter, I’m sure the two of you can handle him and get information.”  Moody levels a piercing gaze on her. Lily keeps her mind carefully Occluded.  “He looks terrible, Professor. Imposter or not, he needs treatment,” Lily insists.

“Very well,” he says. “I will accompany you.”

That is  _ distinctly _ out of character. Lily doesn’t mention it. Once she’s deposited Mr Crouch by the bedside table with Madam Pomfrey watching with hawk eyes, she leaves; imposter-Moody won’t be able to act.  Later, though, when she pulls out her map, she sees Albus Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Bartemius Crouch Jr. on the map. Bartemius Crouch is nowhere to be seen.

For the rest of the night, magic swirls, angry gusts, through her room.

* * *

In the following days, her entire House seems dead set on helping her prepare for the third task, the news of which has gotten out to the rest of the school. Professor Snape is more on edge than he has been, which is saying something.

Professor Dumbledore sends her a note, asking to meet in his office; Lily winces when she gets it. The last time that happened, it’d been in first year and he tried to give her candy laced with  _ something _ . Arguably, he hasn’t done anything since—but Lily would consider that in second year, with the Chamber unexpectedly open, and in third year, with Lily not attending, he hasn’t had much chance.  Draco and Pansy send her off with a monotone “don’t get killed” as they play chess, although Draco does also look up and send an air-kiss like that’ll solve every problem Lily has.  Lily just raises an eyebrow at them and then goes to the gargoyle guarding his office, telling it “Cockroach Clusters” and then riding the staircase up to the Headmaster’s office.  Before she knocks, the door opens.

“Hello, Smythin,” says Moody. “Come in, then.”

Cornelius Fudge is standing beside Dumbledore’s desk, wearing a pinstriped cloak and holding his lime-green bowler hat.

“Lily!” he says, moving forward. “How are you?”

Lily smiles. “All things considered, very well. I’m not dead yet,” she says. Fudge laughs.

“Ah, now, I doubt you  _ could _ be dead. We were just talking about the night when Mr Crouch turned up on the grounds. You brought him to the Hospital Wing, did you not?”

“Yes. I left him with Professor Moody and Madam Pomfrey, but I understand that he disappeared?”

“We believe it might have something to do with Bertha Jorkins’s disappearance,” the Headmaster says.

Fudge sighs. “ _ You _ , you and Moody, Headmaster.”

“Bertha Jorkins? I believe she was in Albania,” Lily says. “Wasn’t Albania where Pettigrew ran off to find the Dark Lord?”  They all gape at her.  Lily smiles. “Was that all, Headmaster? Oh. I did have a question. I’ve heard about Mr Crouch’s son before, and when he was talking to me he mentioned his son and his wife as the mistake he made.”

“His son was put on trial for being part of the group which tortured the Longbottoms, but I believe you know that,” Dumbledore says. “He died a year afterwards. The dementors buried his bones in Azkaban.”

Lily wonders whether Winky might help her if Lily revealed that the younger Crouch was impersonating Moody and planning to kill Lily—after all, she’s still fairly sure that Winky is the house-elf entrusted to care for the younger Crouch.  “A  _ year _ ?” Lily murmurs. “I see.” Then she blinks, looks up, and smiles. “Will you offer me lemon drops this time, Headmaster?” She lets the ring she has as Heiress Black flash briefly.

“No, no, you may go,” the Headmaster says. “I wanted to ensure you were all right, after meeting Mr Crouch.”

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.”

Lily’s aware of imposter-Moody’s gaze following her the entire way out.


	15. The Third Task

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily enters the maze, sleep-deprived, which is a Mistake.

Padfoot and Moony have begun to send Lily daily letters imposing the importance of constant vigilance. In every class, Moody says the same. Then, at dinner with Uncle Severus and Draco, Lily gets more repetitions of warnings to be careful, and reminders to feed the beetle-Skeeter in her jar. Meanwhile, she spends her nights outside of Hogwarts, fixing up the Slytherin Manor in France, doing both renovations and security work. Lily doesn’t think she can remember a time she got a decent amount of sleep, but she brushes it off—there are important things, like this, which are worth a little loss of sleep. And she doubts that the third task will tax her so much that the effects of not sleeping become obvious.

However, it’s also inevitably because of her lack of sleep that she’s getting so many safety warnings from everyone around her.

Lily wonders whether they think she’s a Gryffindor, or if the worry over the third task has just gotten the best of all of them, including herself. Ginny has taken it upon herself to point out that Lily has become considerably less fun. Lily thinks it’s because the threat of Voldemort is imminent, looming over her head—the third task is the only time she can be kidnapped, now— but she can’t tell  _ Ginny _ that. Instead, to prove that she’s still plenty of fun, thank you very much, she Metamorphs so that she looks exactly like Ginny.

“And you’re just  _ no fun _ anymore,” she imitates.

Ginny stares at her in shock. “You’re a Metamorphmagus?”

Lily supposes she’s never brought that up. She assumes herself again. “I’m a Black, so yes. I think I have an estranged cousin or something who’s a Metamorphmagus. Padfoot’s met her and I get an occasional letter about her, but all I know is that she’s training to be an Auror.”

“Cool,” Ginny says. “Can you turn into McGonagall?”

Lily does. “Miss Weasley, you will see me about that Dungbomb  _ right now _ ,” she says, pulling on a conversation she overheard in the halls before lunch.  Ginny groans.  Lily smiles, wide and unnatural on Professor McGonagall’s face. “You’re not very subtle, sometimes. We got rid of the skrewts without getting into trouble.”

“Slytherin talent,” Ginny waves off.

* * *

The day of the task, the Slytherin common room is a space which seems to exist in limbo, unsure of whether to be excited or fearful. Lily assumes they should be both, but that’s a very hard line to tread.  Still, breakfast is taken in near-silence, almost like a memorial dinner.

“I’m not dead  _ yet _ ,” Lily murmurs.

Draco frowns at her. “Do  _ not _ die. If you do, don’t come back as a ghost or I’ll make you as miserable as I can.”

“Promise,” Lily says, holding up her pinky. “I won’t.”  Four identical scoffs sound. She and Draco turn to their friends, who are all gazing at them with expressions which clearly convey their opinion on their intelligence.  It’s still novel, so they both shrug.

“What?” Lily says.

“You two are terrible,” Pansy finally says. “We haven’t seen you two kiss, it’s like you’ve skipped directly to old, married status.”

Draco and Lily both express their distaste—Draco raises an eyebrow, Lily wrinkles her nose slightly.

“Incorrigible,” Daphne agrees.

It’s all rather cryptic for Draco and Lily. They shrug, and then they catch sight of Professor McGonagall walking toward them. “The task isn’t until tonight, is it?” Theo says, watching her progression.

“No,” Lily says. “It’ll be tonight. I wonder what it is.”

“Another interview?” Pansy says.

“Lily, the champions are congregating in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast. The champions’ families are invited to watch the final task, you can greet them in the chamber.” A small, though fond, frown overtakes her features. Lily thinks she mutters something like “he hasn’t changed one bit”, but she isn’t sure.

Actually, Lily’s rather perplexed.  “Who came?” she says.

“You’re an idiot,” Pansy tells her.

“Well, of course my Father and Mother. Moony and Padfoot for sure,” Draco says.

“ _ Oh _ ,” Lily says.

Cedric sticks his head out. “Lily, come on, they’re waiting for you!”

She smiles sheepishly and walks over; Cedric’s already ducking back inside to talk to his parents. Viktor Krum’s over in a corner, conversing with his dark-haired mother and hooked-nose father in rapid Bulgarian. On the other side of the room, Fleur talks in French to her mother; Gabrielle Delacour hangs off of her mother, smiling and waving at Lily when she enters the room. Lily smiles, too.

Then, she notices the awkward, three-way stare off, and Lily’s not sure whether she should laugh or cry.  On one side of the fireplace are Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa and on the other, Mrs Weasley and Bill, and halfway between them, Moony and Padfoot daring any of them to make a move.

“Hi,” Lily manages to say. “I—thank you. Even if you look like you might kill each other.”  That’s enough for the Malfoys and Weasleys to back down.

“We thought we’d come and watch you,” Uncle Lucius says with a small smile.

* * *

Night finally comes. They walk onto the Quidditch field, now completely unrecognizable due to the hedges. A twenty-foot hedge runs around it, with a gap in front of them—the entrance to the vast maze. The passage beyond is dark and ominous. The champions gather, barely-contained nerves evident.

Five minutes later, the stands begin to fill; the air fills with excited voice and rumbling feet as hundreds of students file into their seats. The first stars are beginning to appear. Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick come walking out of the stadium and approach Bagman and the champions; they all wear large, red, luminous stars on their hats, except for Hagrid, who has one on the back of his moleskin vest.

“We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze,” says Professor McGonagall. “If you get into difficulty and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?”

The champions nod.

“Off you go, then!” says Bagman brightly to the four patrollers.

Lily catches a few of them murmuring ‘good luck’ to her before they depart in different directions to station themselves around the maze. Bagman points his wand at his throat and casts the same charm; his magically magnified voice echoes into the stands.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! In first place, with ninety-four points, Miss Lily Smythin of Hogwarts School!” The cheers and applause send birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. “In second place, with eighty-five points, Mr Cedric Diggory from the Hogwarts School! In third place, with eighty points—Mr Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute! And in third place—Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!”

The applause doesn’t stop. Lily looks up and catches sight of the Weasleys, Moony and Padfoot, and Lloyd and Hermione up in the Gryffindor section; not far away, the Malfoys and the rest of Slytherin cheers.

“So… on my whistle, Lily!” says Bagman. “Three—two—one—”

He gives a short blast on his whistle and Lily enters the maze. The towering hedges cast black shadows across the path. Immediately, there’s silence. Lily lights her wand and decides to stick to the left of the maze so she doesn’t get lost. She walks cautiously and slowly—she doesn’t want to win, she just doesn’t want to die. The other whistles sound very quickly, meaning that they’re all now in the maze. Lily continues her pace. The lack of obstacles is beginning to edge her nerves, but Lily knows better than to let down her guard—the maze is simply waiting for that. The sky darkens to navy.

Then, she hears movement behind her; she whirls, ready to whip her wand out. It’s just Cedric, who’s hurried out of a path on the right-hand side. He looks severely shaken, the sleeve of his robe smoking.

“A Fire Crab,” he hisses.

“At least they’re not his Blast-Ended Skrewts,” Lily says. They separate; Cedric shakes his head and dives out of sight, onto another path, as Lily turns a corner to see a miniature replica of Hogwarts reduced to rubble. Lily casts a suspicious glance at it. “ _ What _ ?” she says, her voice carrying through the corridor of hedges. The thing shifts to a row of dead people—Uncle Sev, the Malfoys, the other Slytherins in her year, the three Gryffindors and the Weasleys, Moony and Padfoot. It’s then that Lily realizes that it’s a boggart. She laughs—its attempts have been pathetic. Lily sidesteps the dead bodies and continues onward.

She encounters golden mist, next. Lily walks right over it; no one can see her right now, not with the hedges blocking everything. Then a scream shatters the silence—it’s Fleur. Red sparks shoot up moments later.

Lily continues walking, only to meet a Fire Crab. Briefly, she wonders how many Fire Crabs are  _ in _ the maze. Calmly, she casts another shield charm on herself and hits its eye with a Stunner before going on her way. There are disconcertingly few obstacles. As she makes another turn and continues on her new path, she hears something through the hedges.

“What are you doing?” yells Cedric. “What the hell d’you think you’re doing?”

Krum yells, “ _ Crucio _ !” The air is suddenly full of Cedric’s yells. Lily reaches for Krum’s thoughts—eye contact is only necessary if you’re fully human—and all she reads from him is a single-minded focus. She can’t dig deeper through the memories.

That alone puts Lily on edge. Whenever she’s glimpsed his mind for even a bit, his thoughts have been scattered; he approaches nothing with single-minded focus except Quidditch, not even life-or-death situations. Nonverbally, she casts a Bombarda on the hedge and walks through the carefully human-sized hole it offers. With another flick of her wand, a red light shoots out and stuns Krum. Immediately, Cedric stops twitching and lies there panting, hands over his face.

“Imperiused,” Lily murmurs. “He’s been Imperiused, I’ll send red sparks up for him. Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Cedric pants, standing up. He’s still shaking. “Yeah… I don’t believe it… he crept up behind me…. I heard him, I turned around, and he had his wand on me….”

“Did you hear Fleur scream earlier?”

“Yeah,” says Cedric. “You don’t think Krum got her, too?”

“No,” Lily says. “She’s part-Veela, must’ve come into her Inheritance already, too. A Crucio wouldn’t do that.” She sends red sparks up over Krum. “I hope someone gets to him before the Fire Crab does.”

Cedric mutters, “He’d deserve it.”

“Let’s get away. Which path?” Lily asks.

“This one,” he says, and sticks to his right. Lily nods and goes back through the hole in the hedge to take the left again. It’s nearly completely dark now, the stars glimmering overhead, and so Lily begins to hurry. Either way, it’ll be a Hogwarts victory, but Lily doesn’t want to get stuck here for too long overnight. Every so often, she hits a dead end, but either way going around the left brings her back and in another direction. Still, Lily knows she’s getting closer to the centre of the maze.

As Lily strides down a long, straight path, she sees movement once again. Her beam of wand light illuminates a Sphinx. (In third-year, she’d gone back to Egypt to meet one of them, since Mrs Weasley seemed dead set on making sure she didn’t when they crossed paths during the summer before third-year.)

The sphinx has the body of an over-large lion: great clawed paws and a long yellowish tail ending in a brown tuft. Its head, however, is that of a woman. She turns her long, almond-shaped eyes on Lily as she approaches; she paces from side to side, blocking her progress. Then she speaks, in a deep, hoarse voice.  “You are very near your goal. The quickest way is past me.”

Lily immediately turns around. “Thank you, but no,” she calls as she heads back.

The sphinx’s mouth curves in what is undoubtedly amusement. “There are more dangerous things if you should choose another way.”

Lily pouts and comes back. She knows how sphinxes work; they are generally unharmful and mostly truthful, and allow people to leave if they choose not to answer. A wrong answer is an almost-certain death, a right answer is safe passage through.

“Alright, what’s the riddle?”

The sphinx’s eyes glimmer as she sits down on her hind legs in the very middle of the path and recites:

_ “First think of the person who lives in disguise, _

_ Who deals in secrets and tells nought but lies. _

_ Next, tell me what’s always the last thing to mend,  _

_ The middle of middle and end of the end? _

_ And finally, give the sound often heard _

_ During the search for a hard-to-find word. _

_ Now string them together, and answer me this, _

_ Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss? _ ”

Lily knows these riddles are rare from sphinxes, as giving a riddle full of individual riddles often requires less accuracy and has a higher passing rate. “Did they force you to choose this riddle before they let you in?” Lily asks.

The sphinx’s mouth upturns again. “Perhaps. Have you met one of us before?”

“I spent some time in Egypt last school year,” Lily says. She begins working on the riddle soon after, though.

The first clue—the person who lives in disguise, deals in secrets, and tells lies. Immediately, Uncle Severus flits into her thoughts; a spy. The next clue—the last thing to mend, the middle of middle and end of the end. Recently, when Lily accompanied Luna to the Ravenclaw common room, the knocker gave the same question. Lily had been ready to respond with her go-to answer, ‘not a snake’, but Luna answered it quickly—the letter d. The third clue—a sound heard, presumably between words of importance. Filler words are the obvious choice, but there are enough of those, from ‘er’ to ‘ah’. On the other hand, the fourth clue—a creature you would be unwilling to kiss—considerably narrows the options. After all, a spydah is not a creature.

“A spider,” Lily says. “That’s my answer.” The sphinx smiles more broadly. She gets up, stretches her front legs, and moves aside for him to pass. “Thank you,” Lily says and moves on forward. She’s close to the Cup now, she knows, but the more she goes forward the warier she feels.

She rounds the corner. The Triwizard Cup is gleaming on a plinth a hundred yards away. Suddenly, a dark figure hurtles out onto the path in front of her. It’s Cedric. Lily relaxes.  Then, she sees something immense over a hedge to his left, moving quickly along a path that intersects with his own; it’s moving so fast that Cedric’s about to run into it, and with his eyes on the cup, he hasn’t seen it—

“Cedric!” Lily shouts. “On your left!”  She has the ground of the maze help him along so he doesn’t collide; he looks around just in time to work with her to hurl himself past the thing and avoid colliding with it. When he lands, he trips, his wand flying out of his hand, and the gigantic spider begins to bear down on Cedric. Lily steps forward.

“ _ Stupefy _ ,” Lily murmurs, aiming for one of its eyes. It misses by a centimetre and all it does, in the end, is attract the spider’s attention to her. It gives time, at least, for Cedric to get his wand. Lily rolls under its pincers and shoots another Stunning spell at its unprotected underbelly and rolls right back out again to avoid the spider collapsing on her.

“Lily!” Cedric shouts. “You all right? Did it fall on you?”

Lily stands. “No,” she calls back. “You should go on and take the Cup, you’re Hogwarts’s actual champion, you know.”

Cedric’s pursing his lips, his arms crossed. “You don’t want anything as compensation for being entered into a competition you didn’t want to be in and probably could’ve died in?”

“No,” Lily says. “Either way, it’s a Hogwarts win. Cedric, hurry up, I don’t want to be in this place any longer than necessary.”

“Both of us,” Cedric says. “We’ll take it together.”

Lily sighs. “You won’t let up, will you?”

“No.” She sighs again and heads over. Lily, however, grasps the handle a second earlier. Instantly, she feels a jerk somewhere behind her navel. Her feet leave the ground. Cedric’s eyes are wide as he stops, hand centimetres from the other handle of the cup.

_ A portkey. _ Lily supposes this is how she dies.


	16. In the Graveyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily sets fire to a cauldron and gets a snake and a rat out of the deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lily cusses once (I don't think I put in any warnings for that kind of thing and she might cuss earlier? But it's all right, she's a fourth-year now.) This is a pretty short chapter but the next is longer, I promise.

Lily lands agilely on the ground. Immediately, she lets go of the Triwizard cup and raises her head. Taking in her surroundings, she realises that she’s in a dark and overgrown graveyard. There are dead leaves littered across the ground, covering dead grass—an apt graveyard aesthetic, although an ugly one. The black outline of a small church is visible beyond a large yew tree to the right; a hill rises above her to the left. Lily can make out the outline of Riddle Manor on that hillside, the house where Frank Bryce was killed; she concludes that she’s been Portkeyed to the cemetery of Little Hangleton.

Next, she tests the magic of the area, planning to Disapparate if possible—but it’s like running into a wall when she tries. She closes her eyes and tries to keep the forehead at bay. “There are Disapparition Wards around this place,” Lily mutters. “Fuck.” It’s completely silent and slightly eerie except for her voice. “I  _ knew _ I was getting kidnapped before the third task ended, why did I  _ touch _ the cup?” It’s a murmur and chastisement to herself.

There’s a jet of light from somewhere—Lily can’t tell; she’s still disoriented—and suddenly, she’s wrapped in ropes. A short man emerges, carrying a baby in his arms. Lily doesn’t sneer at him, but feigns confusion, pushing aside the sharp pain in her collarbone scar. If she’s been kidnapped, she has every plan to draw as much information as she can.

The man, his hood still up, puts down the bundle, lights his wand, and drags Lily to a marble headstone with the name Tom Riddle. Lily supposes that that’s the senior Tom Riddle, not Lord Voldemort. Then, Lily recognises him—the short stature, the trembling, the missing finger are all dead giveaways. Pettigrew’s hands are shaking uncontrollably and Lily’s unsure how, but he manages to bind Lily tightly to the headstone and stuff her mouth with black material. As if Lily would scream  _ now _ when she hasn’t earlier. Still, she keeps quiet and still—Lily doesn’t think they should know she has more than enough control of her magic, and more than enough magic, to free herself without a wand and voice.

Lily looks down to see a gigantic snake coiling and writhing in the grass as it slinks toward her. Nagini, if her memory serves her correctly. She ignores the snake and looks over to where Pettigrew is wheezing, struggling to pull a large, man-sized stone cauldron to the foot of the grave. It’s full of what seems to be water, which splashes around. Her lips twitch, amused. She looks down at the snake and hisses, something she can do despite the gag in her mouth, because Parseltongue, fortunately, doesn’t require much space in the mouth.

_ “I caught him in my first-year. Betrayed my parents and then hid as a rat in with the Weasleys for twelve years or something. Too bad Azkaban didn’t improve its security, although I don’t think many people thought a coward could pull it off.” _

_ “You are a Speaker?” _

_ “Every snake asks me that,” _ Lily sighs.  _ “Yes. How did you meet that ugly baby, by the way?” _

_ “He is the Dark Lord!” _

_ “And currently, an ugly baby. Pettigrew is terrified, isn’t he? Do you think your master would let me hit him with another couple Crucios?” _

The snake seems unsure what to do with her. It slithers away as Lily holds back a pleased smile. Pettigrew’s gotten crackling flames beneath the cauldron now and the liquid in the cauldron begins to heat quickly, sending out fiery sparks as steam thickens. The movement of the bundled baby becomes more agitated.

“Hurry!” comes a high, cold voice. Lily lets out a sound which is undoubtedly one of amusement, but it’s quiet enough that none of her captors hears. Already, her magic has forced the ropes to loosen, enough so that she can take out the piece of black fabric and easily reach her wand in her sleeve. She stays next to the headstone, though.

“It is ready, Master.”

“ _ Now _ …” says the cold voice, demanding. Pettigrew pulls open the robes on the ground, revealing what is undoubtedly a baby possessed by Voldemort—the face is flat and snakelike, with gleaming red eyes. Or perhaps it’s a baby he created for himself. It seems almost helpless; it raises its thin arms and puts them around Pettigrew’s neck as Pettigrew lifts it, a face full of revulsion. Lily nearly laughs at him—serves him right for being a coward, she supposes. Then, Pettigrew lowers it into the cauldron, which hisses. Its frail body hits the bottom with a soft thud.

“Is it too much to hope that he’ll drown?” Lily says, rather conversationally. Pettigrew pales more. “I know he can still wield a wand, but he wouldn’t happen to have one with him, would he?” She multitasks; as she talks, she begins searching Lord Voldemort’s mind. She is, after all, a natural Legilimens, has been proficient since at least second-year, and Lord Voldemort is currently in a particularly weak state. Lily supposes he has not been fed snake venom in a while or something.

It is merely a matter of convincing Lord Voldemort to think of certain incidents in history—to recall the process of making a Horcrux—and he is easily convinced. It is almost terrifying, how readily and sadistically he prepares to relive those memories. 

The diary comes first: Lily has to watch through his eyes as the gigantic basilisk she killed rises up out of the chamber and pins Myrtle Warren with a fixed yellow gaze. Myrtle Warren falls dead and her ghost rises, but by then the basilisk is gone and so is Riddle, down to the chamber to prepare his first Horcrux. (Lily averts her eyes through the process. She knows how a Horcrux is made through her research and she doesn’t want to see it close-up, thank you very much.) But she stabbed the diary to death (and then some more) in second-year, so she passes onto the next memory. 

Tom Riddle is still young, a mere Hogwarts student, and he’s in the Gaunt house — the one Lily had to clean up — which, come to think of it, is relatively close to the Muggle village of Little Hangleton. He faces a man called Marvolo Gaunt, apparently his uncle, and his lip curls at the insults and secrets that are hurled before he takes his uncle’s wand. From there, up he goes to the village to meet his father, Tom Riddle Sr., and his grandparents. They are dead quickly — around dinner, green jets of light hit each of them and they fall. Only then does he return to his uncle, giving the wand back, and take up the Gaunt rings. The Ladyship ring has a pull to him and he makes the stone inside of it his next Horcrux, the one Lily destroyed when she first began to clean up the Gaunt house.

There is a whirl of Crucios and under-the-table killings and then, he is in Borgin and Burkes, told to go meet Hepzibah Smith. Hepzibah Smith, an old lady living in a rather cluttered, ostentatious house, continually laps up the sweet-talk Riddle delivers. Lily estimates that it’s hardly a year before Riddle puts poison instead of sugar for the tea, so that Hepzibah’s house-elf makes a tiny mistake, and takes the Hufflepuff cup and the Slytherin locket. Lily knows those are done for, too; the Slytherin locket because of Kreacher and Regulus Arcturus Black, the Hufflepuff cup because the goblins like Lily enough. 

The next memory which comes takes her back to Hogwarts. Riddle is talking to the Grey Lady, the ghost actually  _ smiling _ . She asks him to get the Ravenclaw diadem hidden in the forests of Albania once he can, and then the memory cuts to frigid cold and dark forest. Riddle finds it easily enough and then he kills a man unfortunate enough to be walking down the same isolated street as him. A few years later or so—his face is already growing more monstrous than human —he comes to interview for the Defence post. He, however, places the diadem in the Room of Requirement and the Grey Lady stays silent, although her face is grave. That Horcrux, too, is gone. 

And the next memory is that of the snake. He’s used Bertha Jorkins’s death for placing a sliver of his sliver of soul into Nagini. There are no more forthcoming memories, meaning that the Dark Lord doesn’t know that Lily is one of his precious Horcruxes tying him to life. She pulls out of his mind as soon as she can—insanity apparently does things to a person’s Occlumency but she doesn’t want to risk anything, either.

Every single one of his memories is tinged with excitement, the thrill of magic, and vindictiveness. Lily cannot feel an  _ ounce _ of regret from him, not for Bertha Jorkins nor Myrtle Warren, not even a flash of sympathy from him for the poor man he killed in Albania. She’s not sure Lord Voldemort  _ can _ feel regret, not with the tiny sliver of soul he’s running on, meaning no matter what, so long as he lives he is a danger.

Lily remembers Uncle Snape, her parents,  _ Hogwarts _ and everyone else in there, all the Slytherins who might have to choose sides and all the children who will be volunteered if a war is broken out, not necessarily of their own volition, and she makes a choice. She pins her gaze on Wormtail, who’s starting the ritual.

His voice shakes as he speaks, wand raised and eyes closed. “Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!” The surface of the grave at Lily’s feet cracks and thin dust trickles out—that is what remains of Tom Riddle Sr after all these years. Lily pays no attention; instead, she summons the snake, Nagini. Nagini is altogether too large to be a normal snake and also half-heartedly hostile—for a second, the snake bares her fangs menacingly, and then Nagini settles right back down and gives what might be a sigh. The aura around the snake is heavy and familiar and Lily supposes it might be because of her sleep deprivation that she didn’t notice the snake as Horcrux at first. There’s a scar in the snake’s side; that’s where the centre point of the aura is.

It’s a good thing that she’s Lady Slytherin and can easily revoke such magic without killing her because Lily finds Nagini amusing and a very pretty snake, if not altogether a moral snake. (Arguably, Lily doesn’t think she should expect morals from animals, so being a moral snake shouldn’t be a judge of survival.) However, to give her the time to revoke that magic without getting killed while otherwise preoccupied, she’ll have to do something about the Dark Lord in the cauldron and Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew is easy. She just stuns him, a jet of red light and a thump—Lily realises that the cauldron has turned a vivid, electric blue, sending off sparks left and right. She fixes her attention on the Dark Lord in the cauldron. He might be harder to deal with, though—on the other hand, he  _ is _ in baby form and a very big cauldron. And besides, he’s still weak from the Legilimency Lily’s launched on him  _ and _ the fact that he hasn’t been fed yet. Lily just traps him in wards. Then, she brings Nagini to meet her eyes—Nagini’s yellow eyes are a lot like the basilisk’s from Riddle’s memory of the Chamber of Secrets.

_ “I won’t kill you. It shouldn’t hurt, either,” _ she hisses. Nagini is not a particularly loyal snake, Lily notices, as the only response she gets is a nod. That’s all right; Lily doesn’t think she’d be a particularly loyal snake if her master was Lord Voldemort.

“As Lady Slytherin, I recall the magic and soul placed in this vessel by Tom Marvolo Riddle. So mote it be,” she murmurs. It is much quicker than trying to lure a piece of soul out of an object; it is perhaps only a second before a jet of silvery light enters Lily again, a result of the undone magic. It is not a strong jet of light like the other Horcruxes; the soul in Nagini is not large, and the magic used to protect her is not particularly powerful, either. Lily recovers easily—perhaps it is only five minutes that pass before Lily focuses on the familiar, dark magic pulsing on her scar. It is like it expects to be wrenched out and is giving a last feeble protest.

Nevertheless, Lily repeats the words. “As Lady Slytherin, I recall the magic and soul placed in this scar by Tom Marvolo Riddle. So mote it be.”

If possible, this one goes by faster. It is likely because the soul piece in her is small and weakened from fighting her magic and her own will—Lily’s always been strong-willed, apparently—and it is not like there is any magic protecting her scar. A wisp of black dissipates, a very faint silver string of light pierces her skin and leaves in a second, and the scar remains intact but without any traces of magic. It is better than Lily expected.

_ “What was that?” _ Nagini hisses.

_ “Just getting rid of some soul pieces,” _ Lily says as she undoes the wards on Lord Voldemort’s cauldron. She sets Fiendfyre to the cauldron. There is a little bit of hideous wailing, and then nothing and the flames die out. 

Altogether, very anticlimactic. It does not feel as if Lord Voldemort is dead, really; Lily just feels a faint sensation of relief, but nothing like celebration or even _strong_ relief. Maybe it's just because she's tired.

Pettigrew begins whimpering. Evidently, he’s awake. His voice breaks in petrified sobs. “Genesis…” he begins to beg.

Lily has no intention of hearing it—she knows he’s pathetic enough as it is. “Don’t call me that,” Lily says. She Stuns him once more and binds him in ropes warded against Animagi transformation.

Then, she stares at Nagini, who shrinks into a tiny little thing as Lily’s magic washes over the snake, and picks Nagini up, too, before she Disapparates with what must be Tom Riddle’s wand, her own wand hidden in her wrist holster, holding the handle of the Triwizard Cup.


	17. Returning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Chaos of returning back to announce that Lord Voldemort is truly dead and gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we wrap up with the last chapter!

Lily lands in front of the school. The entirety of Hogwarts is obviously just-barely not-panicking; Cedric’s talking to the Headmaster rather urgently.

“I’m back,” Lily says. She stares at small Nagini.  _ “Don’t bite, don’t die,” _ she tells it. Nagini hisses at her, an obvious noise of annoyance.  _ “I like you, so I brought you back.” _ Nagini hisses again, but this time it’s a teeny bit fond. 

Cornelius Fudge runs over to Lily, huffing a little as he arrives. “Lily! Are you all right? Cedric said something about a Portkey—”

Lily smiles. “I’m fine. I got taken to the graveyard in Little Hangleton and killed the Dark Lord, but I’m… mostly fine.”

Fudge gapes at her. “The… the Dark Lord... ridiculous!” he sputters.

Lily shrugs. “I’ll testify under Veritaserum,” she says. “I can submit my memories, too. I’m kind of tired, can I go to the Hospital Wing?” Before the Minister can say anything in reply, Dumbledore and Moody arrive moments.

“Lily, what happened?” Dumbledore asks quietly.

“The Cup was a Portkey. It took me to Little Hangleton’s graveyard, where Tom Riddle Sr is buried. Pettigrew was there. I killed him, and here’s Pettigrew.”

“Why you? Why not Lloyd Potter?” Dumbledore murmurs.

At the same time, Moody speaks. “I’ll take Miss Smythin to the Hospital Wing, shall I?”

“No, I would prefer—”

“They’re all coming over now, Dumbledore. Should we tell them—”

“Lily, stay here.”

Lily nods and sits down. She starts to hiss to the snake,  _ “We’re at Hogwarts.” _

_ “I know.” _

_ “Well, we’ve been holding the Triwizard Tournament. I don’t know how much the Dark Lord told you other than that you’d be able to eat me—” _

_ “I prefer rats, actually.” _

_ “Perfect, because I wasn’t going to offer you human flesh. Anyway, his most loyal and trusted servant has been pretending to be the DADA professor and has entered me in the Triwizard Tournament. That’s how I ended up here, and now I think said DADA professor might try to kill me.” _

“Let’s get to the Hospital Wing,” says the aforementioned imposter.

“Dumbledore said stay,” Lily says. “And I want to find Draco and everyone else first.”

“You need to lie down.” There’s a sudden wave of nausea. Nagini hisses a warning.

_ “Your adrenaline is dropping _ ,” she says.

_ “Good to know. I’ll wait until Dumbledore comes back.” _

_ “He’s about to haul you away _ .”

Lily sighs. She casts a Patronus. “To Minerva McGonagall. It’s Lily. I’ve gone with Professor Moody, he says I need to lie down. Let Dumbledore know so he doesn’t worry.”

“Good, you’re coming,” Moody says. The walk is silent until they enter his office, where he has them sit and has her drink a Pepper-Up Potion. Lily feels less sleep-deprived.

“What happened?” he asks.

“What I told everyone else,” Lily says. “Does it matter to you?” Then she hisses to the snake,  _ “This man is infuriating. Supposed to get me to the third task and then get me to touch the Triwizard Cup so I could resurrect his master, and didn’t give me an ounce of help in either the first or second trial.” _

_ “I could bite him.” _

_ “Maybe.” _

_ “You need to unshrink me first for the venom to get going.”  _ Lily looks at the office. So does the snake.  _ “Never mind. I believe I’d blow up the office.” _

_ “Good point,” _ Lily agrees. One eye has been tracking the way Moody’s edged closer to her. In seconds, Lily’s suddenly sent a jet of red light at him and stunned him. Another second and she’s bound him to his chair.

“ _ What will you do with him?” _

_ “Legilimency to get the password for the trunk. Need to find the real Alastor Moody. Would you like a rat while I do this?” _

Nagini, who’s been unshrunk a little, winds excitedly around her shoulders.  _ “Yes _ .”

“Dobby,” Lily calls softly. The elf appears with a crack almost immediately. “Could you get a rat for Nagini, please?”

Dobby grins, wide, and nods. “Yes, Miss Lily! Dobby can be doing that for you!”

_ “He’ll be back soon, _ ” Lily murmurs. “ _ Hold on. I’m going to perform Legilimency now.” _ She invades his mind gently, unwilling to wake him up from the Stupefy, and combs through his memories. One by one they fly past until Lily chases down the one she wants—

In the memory, imposter Moody takes out a set of keys from the pocket of his robes, next to his hip flask, and inserts the largest key into the seventh lock. The trunk opens to an underground pit, and some ten feet below is the real Mad-Eye Moody, his wooden leg gone, his eye socket empty, and chunks of grizzled hair missing.

Lily rips herself out none too gently and restuns Moody. Nagini is already working on her rat with voracity. She laughs, shaking her head slightly at the snake before she reaches into Moody’s pocket and brings out the set of keys.  The largest key, the last one on the ring, fits perfectly into the seventh lock, and the trunk opens up. The real Alastor Moody has a few more chunks of hair missing than the memory, but he also looks considerably thinner and paler.  Lily throws some basic spells over him; Moody is Stunned and waves of magic indicate the Imperius Curse. He’s relatively weak, probably very cold, but alive enough. She supposes a visit to the Hospital Wing will be needed, but not particularly urgently. She takes imposter-Moody’s cloak and throws it into the pit so that it covers the real Moody perfectly.

Then—

“ _ Stupefy! _ ” There’s a blinding flash of red light and with a great splintering and crashing, the door of Moody’s office blasts apart.

Albus Dumbledore, Professor Snape, and Professor McGonagall stand in the doorway. Dumbledore looks to be in a state of only-barely-controlled cold fury written in the old lines of his face, and power radiates from him.

Lily supposes that sometimes, she forgets that Dumbledore is  _ one of them _ , close to the Fair Folk no matter what pretences he puts up for the public.

“He’s Stunned already,” Lily says. “Mad-Eye Moody’s in the trunk. Don’t mind Nagini, that’s my new pet snake.”

Professor McGonagall’s lips are pursed. “Come along, Miss Smythin,” she whispers. She looks like she might cry. “Come along… hospital wing…”

“No,” says Dumbledore sharply.

“Albus, she ought to—she’s been through enough tonight—”

“I can stay a little longer. He gave me a Pepper-Up Potion,” Lily says. “Can we get a truth potion and Winky?”

Dumbledore nods. “Severus, please fetch me the strongest Truth Potion you possess, and then go down to the kitchens and bring up the house-elf called Winky. Minerva, kindly go find Padfoot by Hagrid’s hut and bring him up to my office, tell him I will be with him shortly, and then come back here.” The two of them nod and leave. Lily keeps her mind Occluded.  “After all this time?” Dumbledore says, staring straight at her, eyes piercing. She feels him on the edges of her mind.

“Our mind is our haven,” Lily says. “And I  _ am _ a natural Occlumens.”

“Why do you think the Dark Lord picked you instead of Lloyd Potter?”

_ “Because Lloyd Potter is your twin, and you are the defeater of the Dark Lord,”  _ Nagini hisses.

_ “Well, they can’t know. Where would the fun of that be?” _ she hisses back. 

Then, to Professor Dumbledore, she says, “Sorry, Nagini had some questions about the two Moodys. I don’t know why he picked me, but it could have to do with second year. Maybe Pettigrew told him about second year.”

“Hm,” Professor Dumbledore says. “Well, our fake Moody may have forgotten to take the Polyjuice as frequently as he should have… on the hour… every hour… We shall see.”

“It’s Barty Crouch Jr.,” Lily says. “Though I’m confused on how he got out of Azkaban, as he’s not an Animagus, and I’ve been too preoccupied to ask Winky.”

“I’m sure the Truth potion will reveal all.”

Dumbledore’s right about fake-Moody forgetting to take the potion, for slowly, imposter-Moody changes; scars disappear, the skin smooths, the long mane of grizzled grey hair withdraws and turns the colour of straw, the mangled nose fixes and shrinks. Suddenly, with a loud clunk, the wooden leg falls away as a normal leg regrows in its place. The next moment, the magical eyeball pops out of the man’s face and a real eye replaces it.

There are hurried footsteps outside in the corridor. Snape returns, Winky at his heels. Professor McGonagall is right behind them. Professor Snape doesn’t look surprised at all; Lily wonders whether Uncle Severus’s found a way past her mental barriers, or if he just has a web of informants at his disposal.

“No one stays dead these days,” Professor McGonagall murmurs. “Good heavens.”

Winky, who looks better than she has for days, peers around Snape’s legs. Her mouth opens wide and she lets out a piercing shriek. “Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you doing here?”

“He killed your master,” Lily murmurs. “He’s Stunned right now.” Winky turns to look at Lily and immediately runs toward her. Lily sits cross-legged and lets the house-elf onto her lap.

The Headmaster and Gryffindor Head of House gape at the house-elf’s familiarity with Lily, but there are more pressing matters — their attention diverts when Dumbledore says, “Severus, you have the potion?” Wordlessly, the Veritaserum is handed over and Dumbledore forces three drops into Barty Crouch Jr.’s mouth before casting Rennervate. Crouch’s son opens his eyes; his face is slack, gaze unfocused.

“Can you hear me?” Dumbledore asks quietly.

“Yes,” he mutters.

“I would like you to tell us how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?”

Crouch takes a deep, shuddering breath, then begins to speak in a flat, expressionless voice. “My mother saved me. She knew she was dying. She persuaded my father to rescue me as a last favour to her. He loved her as he had never loved me. He agreed. They came to visit me. They gave me a draught of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother’s hairs. She took a draught of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my hairs. We took on each other’s appearance.”

Lily keeps a running commentary in the background, quiet, to Winky, things like “that was Veritaserum so he has to tell the truth”. Winky continues to sob into Lily’s robes, already dirty from the graveyard, so Lily doesn’t quite mind.

“The dementors are blind. They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering, one healthy, one dying person exiting. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, just in case any prisoners were watching through their doors.  My mother died a short while after in Azkaban. She was careful to drink Polyjuice Potion until the end. She was buried under my name and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me.”

“And what did your father do with you, when he had got you home?” says Dumbledore quietly.

“Staged my mother’s death. A quiet, private funeral. That grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. Then I had to be concealed and controlled. He used the Imperius. Forced to wear an Invisibility Cloak day and night. I was always with the house-elf. She was my keeper and caretaker. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats. Rewards for my good behaviour. When I had recovered my strength, though, I thought only of finding my master… of returning to his service.”

“Did anybody ever discover that you were still alive?”

“Yes. A witch in my father’s office. Bertha Jorkins. She came to the house with papers for my father’s signature. She heard Winky talking to me and came to investigate. She heard enough to guess who was hiding under the Invisibility Cloak. My father arrived home and she confronted him. He put a very powerful Memory Charm on her to make her forget what she’d found out. Too powerful. He said it damaged her memory permanently.”

“Tell me about the Quidditch World Cup.”

“Winky talked my father into it. She spent months persuading him. I had not left the house for years. I had loved Quidditch. Let him go, she said. He will be in his Invisibility Cloak. He can watch. Let him smell fresh air for once. She said my mother would have wanted it. She told my father that my mother had died to give me freedom. She had not saved me for a life of imprisonment. He agreed in the end. But Winky didn’t know that I was growing stronger. I was starting to fight the Imperius. There were brief periods when I seemed outside of his control. It happened, in there, in the Top Box. I saw in front of me a wand sticking out of a boy’s pocket. I stole it. Winky didn’t know, she had her face hidden. She is frightened of heights.”

A fresh wave of sobs steals over Winky. Lily continues to soothe the house-elf and starts to tune the other conversation out, only keeping her ears perked for the surname ‘Potter’ or whenever she might come up in conversation. If Barty Crouch Jr. reveals it now, it’s not  _ ideal _ , but it’ll allow Lily to rip into Dumbledore — who has tried to raise Lloyd as a pawn, who has sent her to an orphanage like a replacement figure rather than a child, and who has kept Padfoot in Azkaban for no reason other than his scheme for ‘the Greater Good.’ And Dumbledore has shown a remarkable ability to choose the  _ worst _ Defence Against the Dark Arts professors. (Lily still shudders to remember Lockhart’s Valentine’s Day in second-year. Good riddance to his memory.)

As Barty Crouch Jr. talks about how Voldemort came and cast an Imperius on his father, Lily flicks another rat toward mini-Nagini, who’s been curiously trying to examine Winky. The manic smile spreads wider over Crouch’s face as Winky stops sobbing in favour of peeking through her fingers, seemingly petrified from terror. She’s too appalled to speak after hearing about the Imperius.

“And what did Lord Voldemort ask you to do?” says Dumbledore. Lily begins listening in earnest again, knowing this is the part where she comes in, and where her identity is most likely to be revealed.

“He asked me whether I was ready to risk everything for him. I was ready. It was my dream, my greatest ambition, to serve him, to prove myself to him. He told me he needed to place a faithful servant at Hogwarts. A servant who would guide Lily Smythin through the Triwizard Tournament without appearing to do so. A servant who would watch over her. Ensure that she reached the Triwizard Cup. Turn the Cup into a Portkey, which would take the first person to touch it to my master. But first—”

“You needed Alastor Moody,” Dumbledore says, eyes blazing.

“Wormtail and I did it. We had prepared the Polyjuice Potion beforehand. We journeyed to his house. Moody put up a struggle. There was a commotion. We managed to subdue him just in time. Forced him into a compartment of his own magical trunk. Took some of his hair and added it to the potion. I drank it and became Moody’s double. I took his leg and his eye. I was ready to face Arthur Weasley when he arrived to sort out the Muggles who had heard a disturbance. I made the dustbins move around the yard. I told Arthur Weasley I had heard intruders in my yard, who had set off the dustbins. Then I packed up Moody’s clothes and Dark Detectors, put them in the trunk with Moody, and set off for Hogwarts. I kept him alive, under the Imperius Curse, so I could question him to find out about his past, learn his habits, that I could fool even Dumbledore. I also needed his hair to make Polyjuice Potion. The other ingredients were easy. I stole boomslang skin from the dungeons. When the Potions master found me in his office, I said I was under orders to search it.”

“And what became of Wormtail after you attacked Moody?” says Dumbledore.

“Wormtail returned to care for my master in my father’s house and to keep watch over my father. After a while, my father began to fight the Imperius Curse. There were periods when he knew what was happening. My master decided it was no longer safe for my father to leave the house. He forced him to send letters to the Ministry instead. He made him write and say he was ill. But Wormtail neglected his duty. He was not watchful enough. My father escaped. My master guessed that he was heading for Hogwarts. My father was going to tell Dumbledore everything, to confess. He was going to admit that he smuggled me from Azkaban.

“My master sent me word of my father’s escape. He told me to stop him at all costs. So I waited and watched the forest perimeter. For a week I wanted for my father to arrive at Hogwarts. At last, one evening, I saw him in the trees, walking around the edge of the forest. Then Smythin came. I could not hurt Smythin; my master needed her. Smythin suspected my father was under the Imperius. She cast a Patronus at first for Dumbledore, then when my father attacked her, she Stunned and bound him, preparing to float him to the Hospital Wing. She sent another Patronus to tell Dumbledore. I doubled back and waited for her to arrive at the castle. I told her that I could take my father but she may have suspected me then. She brought him up the Hospital Wing and left. Then I Stunned Madam Pomfrey and killed my father. I transfigured the body to a bone and put it in my pocket. When Dumbledore came, Madam Pomfrey was awake and had her memory modified. He had me go look for my father’s body. I took the bone and buried it in the forest.”

There’s complete silence, including one from the snake. Then, Dumbledore says, “And tonight…”

“I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner,” whispers Barty Crouch. “Turned it into a Portkey, gave him Genesis Lily Potter. I will be honoured by him beyond the dreams of wizards.”

“ _ Genesis Lily Potter? _ ” Dumbledore says as if he can’t quite believe it. Still, the truth serum is working on Barty Crouch. Lily doesn’t look away from the insane smile on his face. Winky wails and sobs.

Then, she says, “I suppose the game is up, then.”

“You’re—Genesis?” Professor McGonagall says, turning to Lily. Suddenly, she’s being hugged very fiercely, almost terrifying since it’s Professor McGonagall showing that much emotion.

“Er—yeah,” Lily says, sufficiently shocked.

“Genesis, my dear girl,” Professor Dumbledore starts as Professor McGonagall pulls back, suspicious wetness in her eyes. Both Lily and Nagini hiss, synchronized, in the face of Dumbledore’s fake twinkling eyes.

“Don’t start,” Lily says. “First you misidentified the baby who survived the Killing Curse, then you cast blocks on both of us, and then you sent  _ me _ to an orphanage where I suffered from malnutrition and got ostracized, and all the while you kept Padfoot in Azkaban, suffering from the Dementors because you wanted Lloyd under  _ your _ thumb. We’re still children. Don’t use  _ us _ to fight your wars.”

“Genesis, my dear, you must realize it was all for the Greater Good. A simple overlooking on my part. If you had told me, I would have certainly —”

“You would have certainly groomed me so I would walk willingly to my own death. And I seem to have gotten on just fine  _ without _ your plans for the Greater Good, so please excuse me if I’m not particularly swayed,” Lily says. “And my name is  _ Lily _ , only my parents have called me Genesis.” Her eyes are flaring like Avada Kedavras, her face composed of steep, sharpened angles. Professor Snape comes to her and places a hand on her shoulder.

The door thuds. Padfoot’s face is all angles, drawing in too much light, as he stares and nearly snarls at the Stunned Crouch. “Lily. Are you all right?”

Lily hums. “Fairly. Look at how calm Uncle Severus is, Padfoot, it’s all fine.”

He does snarl then, but he stops glaring so fiercely. “I’ll want to know what happened later.”

“Of course. Later,” Lily says.

“And does Mr Black know who you are, my dear girl?” Dumbledore says, eyes lighting as if he’s discovered a weakness he can exploit.

“Of course, Headmaster,” Lily says. Padfoot freezes.

“What has  _ happened _ ?” he says, the words snarling out. Professor Dumbledore looks like he’s been thrown for another loop. Lily supposes it isn’t often that his plans are overthrown, and Dumbledore  _ is _ getting quite old — it must be the shock that’s keeping him silent. Not that Lily’s complaining.

“Barty Crouch gave it away,” she says, keeping a nonchalance she doesn’t particularly feel. “Rita Skeeter is still, ah,  _ unavailable _ ,” — more like kept in bug form in a jar — “but I’ve heard her replacement… Elise Wistern, I think, is quite suitable.”

“I’ll have Lucius write to Lord Henry, then,” Padfoot says. Then he freezes. “Dementors are coming.” Suddenly, there’s a swooping sensation of something cold. There’s a loud banging noise, the swish of movement.

“Take the children and run!” It’s her father’s voice. Distantly, Lily realizes that this is a memory. She’s dreamed this before. Then, there’s two thuds—one of the door slamming, the other of her father hitting the ground, and a high, cold laugh. Her mother’s chanting frantically, but the magic weaves calmly around the two twins. And then she finishes. The door bursts open.

“Not them, not them, please not them!” Her mother is nearly screaming. Lily’s aware that she’s on the ground, biting down screams, one hand pressing on her collarbone where the lightning-bolt scar is. It’s all very detached.

“Stand aside, you silly girl, stand aside now.”

“Not Genesis! Please, no, take me! Kill me instead!” Lily’s screaming, pleading with the Dark Lord. He merely scoffs and sends a bright green curse at her; she crumples to the ground, lifeless. Another high, cold laugh, and the thud of footsteps coming closer.

“ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ” The shout invades Lily’s mindscape and with a jolt, she seems to resurface; the cold begins to wash away. (Lily is suddenly very glad she killed Lord Voldemort.)

“Lily, are you all right?” Padfoot says, clutching Lily. She can see a doe standing its ground against two dementors and Fudge, who looks frantic.

“Lily!” he shouts. Lily has a feeling that he’s been shouting that for a while. Lily blinks at him and waves slightly, cracking a small smile. Relief washes over Fudge. Beyond just enjoying Lily’s company, Lily knows he’s relieved because the Malfoys, his main donors, will be  _ upset _ if Lily’s not all right.

“I’m good. Just—the dementors—” Fudge glares at the dementors. Almost reluctantly, they glide out.

Professor Snape presses chocolate into Lily’s palm. “Eat,” he commands. Lily does. It helps wash out the last of the cold residue of the dementors, which have sufficiently overthrown the previous chaos of her new identity.

“Oh, Minister, I’m Genesis Potter,” she says offhandedly. “Could you get Barty Crouch’s account? I’d like to have backing from a villain with truth serum when I talk to the newspapers.”

* * *

Madam Pomfrey gets her hands on Lily with the help of Professor Snape, who is insistent that Lily get a good night’s rest before she talks to the newspapers. Lily tells Madam Pomfrey who she is, too, while Professor Snape sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Let the Malfoys and Padfoot deal with the first articles for now, you just need to worry about the interviews,” Uncle Severus says before forcing a Dreamless Sleep potion down her throat.

When she comes to, she senses Padfoot and Moony, both very quiet, nearby her.

“What?” she mutters. Nagini is curled up on the pillow too; the snake cracks an eye open. Lily takes in the assembly around her bed—Draco’s been petting through her hair, and flanking him are Pansy, Blaise, Theo, and Daphne; on her other side, Hermione, Ron, and Lloyd sit. Forming an outer perimeter are the adults: the Malfoys, Padfoot, Moony, Mrs Weasley and Bill Weasley. Lily thinks it’s a miracle that Madam Pomfrey has allowed so many visitors.

“Be  _ quiet _ ,” Draco murmurs to the others, who are engaged in small whispered conversations. “Lily, are you all right?”

Lily cracks another smile, more genuine this time. “Mostly. What’s happened?”

“You’re in the Hospital Wing,” Ron offers.  Lily can hear Mrs Weasley and Bill chastising him quietly for saying something so obvious; from Bill, it’s mostly teasing.

“You won the Triwizard Tournament,” Lloyd says.

“Dumbledore is insisting on coming in to demand answers from you,” Pansy supplies.

The door opens and, indeed, the Minister, Uncle Severus, and the Headmaster enter the Hospital Wing.

“Lily,” Fudge says, rushing over. “You’re all right?”

Lily nods. “Tired, but uninjured.”

“Good, good. Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy.” He seems to just notice them, and bows toward them. “And Lily, your winnings.”

Lily smiles faintly. “It should be Cedric’s. He would have touched the Cup first if he wasn’t so insistent.”

“You can give it to him once you’re off bedrest,” Moony says.

“I can hand it to him,” Uncle Severus says. “Perhaps we could all leave so Lily can rest.”

The Weasleys are first to leave with nods, and they bring the Gryffindors with them. The Headmaster leaves, too, along with the Minister; the Headmaster looks especially angry but Nagini, on the pillow, is beginning to grow and bare her fangs rather viciously.

“I should have told you,” Uncle Severus says, frowning, “the moment that you revealed you were the Saviour. I had made up with your parents midway through the war when I became a spy for the Order of the Phoenix, the resistance against the Dark Lord. Still, I had a part to play. I did not realize that a prophecy would lead to… all of this. But the prophecy proclaimed that there would be a child born as the month ended, whose parents had escaped the Dark Lord thrice, who could challenge the Dark Lord.”

“So it was either going to be me dead or him,” Lily murmurs, cottoning on rather quickly. “Well, at least it wasn’t me.”

Draco’s laugh is something between amusement and pain. He grabs her hand. “I’m  _ very _ glad it wasn’t you,” he says. Lily ignores the way the other four Slytherins pull faces at them and instead, lets the silver Veela wings fan out to wrap around her and Draco. (And Nagini, who looks more interested than disgruntled.)

“We will need to get the story out to the Prophet unless you would prefer to not be known as a Potter—?” Aunt Narcissa says.

Lily peeks an eye beyond the span of her wings. “No, I think we can reveal it now. Now, it’s just one person to keep an eye out for, and the Headmaster is much less likely to try and kill me. And he’s older, too; he’ll go someday. Just don’t let him try and add anything to the narrative.”

“He won’t be able to,” Uncle Lucius says, a promise.

“What really happened in the graveyard?” Padfoot asks, his eyes full of black fire. “Did Pettigrew do anything? Barty Crouch Jr. is still alive.”

Lily smiles. “I didn’t get hurt. Just got rid of two Horcruxes and then set his cauldron on fire with Fiendfyre.”

Moony looks shocked, but he conceals it in a second. “You  _ do _ need to rest, then,” he says. “It’s good Lucius and Narcissa didn’t send out the news yesterday.”

* * *

The article comes out very soon. Professor Snape, Madam Pomfrey, and really, all of Slytherin, keeps her in the Hospital Wing, but she gets the Daily Prophet anyway. She has to say that Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa have done an  _ excellent _ job of getting the newspaper’s compliance; its emphasis on Genesis Lily Potter, the Black Heiress, as the Girl-Who-Lived helps cast even more doubt on Dumbledore, and the article continues to bring to light his other crimes. Lily knows Dumbledore’s position is already quite weak; he hasn’t been to Wizengamot for too long but Uncle Lucius and Padfoot are steadily gaining power, so really it’s only a matter of time before she can evict him and have Professor McGonagall take over as Headmistress. Professor Dumbledore has not bothered her since the article came out — he can sense a losing battle, at the very least. 

When Madam Pomfrey finally lets her out of the Hospital Wing — it’s very early morning and Lily has been badgering her — she is immediately assaulted by Ron and Hermione. Lloyd hangs back, looking uncertain.

“So you  _ are _ Genesis Lily Potter!” Hermione says, no doubt remembering their first conversation on their first train ride to Hogwarts.

“Surprise,” Lily replies, a little drily, as Nagini winds around her neck. “Dropped off at a Muggle orphanage, introduced to the Wizarding World by the Dark Lord himself, the girl in the prophecy.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Lloyd finally says, in a half-mutter.

“I didn’t think you'd believe me and I didn't want to bring it to Dumbledore’s attention,” Lily says. “If you went to Gringotts and found out that the Headmaster not only put you in an orphanage while putting your twin with relatives but also attempted to place mental and magical blocks on you, you wouldn’t trust him, either.”

“So all of it was true?” Ron says. “The full story is in every newspaper.”

Lily hums. “If you’ll excuse me, I have to go to my dorm.”

“You’ll—you’ll write? Aunt Petunia’s wanted to meet you,” Lloyd says.

A small smile quirks LIly’s lips. “Yes. I will.” With that, she turns and makes a familiar journey down to the dungeons and into the common room. Already, it seems fitted out for a party. Draco is the first to meet her.

“It’s a complete success, Wizengamot’s calling Dumbledore into question,” he says. He gets closer and lowers his voice. “And if anything, Slytherin loves you more for being the long-lost Potter twin.”

Lily lets out a brief laugh, bright and chime-like in the greenish light which flows through the floor-length windows of the common room, and kisses him.

It is the first time they’ve done so in public, and it is that sight that Uncle Severus, Padfoot, and Moony walk into—the Slytherins cheering, food laid out and music playing, and the two crown jewels of Slytherin in an act of PDA.

Uncle Severus merely sighs and goes to the food table, picking up a glass of spiked punch; Moony and Padfoot stand and stare before Padfoot shouts.

“And neither of you  _ told me _ ?!” he exclaims.

Lily and Draco break apart, smug smiles on both their faces. “Well, it didn’t come up,” Draco says.

“Everyone else assumed that we were together,” Lily says.

Moony and Padfoot both stare, and then break out into laughter. “That’s true,” Padfoot says. “How could we have missed it?”

“Idiot Gryffindors,” Uncle Severus offers as an explanation, right as Uncle Lucius and Aunt Narcissa walk into the common room, too; the sight they see is the Slytherin common room full of laughter, Moony and Padfoot still a little in shock as they stare at Draco and Lily, who are still awfully close to each other.

It seems, after all, that all is well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally finished (and uploaded) the entire series! Thank you so much for sticking with me, despite the long breaks between uploads and that one time I didn't do anything for a good year. Admittedly, I didn't always enjoy the plot and writing it, especially when I came back from that year-long break to review everything, but after I reworked it I found myself interested in writing the series again. I did struggle a bit with the ending, unsure of whether I should have continued it into fifth-year or longer, but then I remembered both my general inability to update regularly and what Lily said in first (or was it second?) year, where she talked about defeating the Dark Lord by fourth-year, and as a result, I drew the series to an end here, where hopefully you can assume either a happily-ever-after or if it suits you more, a depressing end to Lily's life. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed pulling it all together, and as always, I'd love to hear your feedback!


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